Lost and Found
by Andelia
Summary: An accident leaves the SeaQuest's crew reeling, and Lucas alone.
1. Chapter One

Obviously, I don't own SeaQuest, or any of the characters contained therein. If I did I would be a far happier woman, not to mention a far richer one. 

This is a SeaQuest story, but it's primarily a Lucas story, and much of it doesn't take place on the ship. It's also a crossover with something else, but I'm not saying what just yet. (I'll tell you what it is when I get to it, and of course, add on the depressing fact that I don't own that either...) One last note, I have no editor for this piece, so it won't shock me if there are a few grammatical errors. Please feel free to point them out to me.

Thanks for reading, and please review me so that I'll know whether anyone is interested in my continuing on!

* * * * * * *

Friday, April 25, 5:30 P.M.

The waters beneath San Francisco Bay

"Hey, it's not funny, I coulda been killed!" Ben Krieg was amused, but trying very hard to act as though he were miffed by the laughter of his friend. He and Lucas had gone into the city, and well, things had not gone exactly as he had planned. As he piloted the supply truck back toward the ship, he was just grateful that Lucas had been the only person he'd taken with him. Otherwise, he'd be in much more trouble…

The blonde boy in the seat next to him tried, quite unsuccessfully, to stop laughing at the somewhat serious situation. "I tell you, the Captain's going to kill you." he managed to choke out between bouts of laughter.

"Yeah, who's gonna tell him? You? Didn't you learn your lesson about that the first time?" He really hoped that Lucas stopped laughing before they reached the ship; the last thing that he needed was for the captain to suspect something.

Lucas calmed himself, and looked over at Ben doubtfully. "I think it's going to be kind of obvious, Ben. You lost almost a thousand dollars of SeaQuest's supply fund." Biting his lip trying to keep from laughing again, he added, "Because your own contact mugged you…" Falling forward in his seat, Lucas once again burst into laughter.

"Well, that's the last time I deal with him, that's for sure." Krieg said resolutely, making the teenager laugh even harder. "But seriously, Lucas, I replaced the money. And I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone. I've been in enough trouble lately, and I don't need the captain on my case about this." He still couldn't believe that he had been mugged, and in broad daylight no less.

When he replied, Lucas' voice held a whiny note, "Aww, you've got to be kidding me! I can't tell anyone this? This is like, the best story ever! You should've seen the look on your face…" Seeing the sincerity in Krieg's eyes, Lucas sighed heavily. "Oh all right, Ben. I won't say anything."

"Good man, Lucas. You may just save my career."

Chuckling a bit more sedately than before, Lucas responded, "I don't think that anything could-"

But his next words were cut off as something slammed into the side of the supply truck. The two men were tossed hard to the left, knocking Ben unconscious instantly when his head impacted the side of the truck. The truck shook violently in protest to the collision, and started to spin out of control because of both the blow and the sudden lack of a pilot.

Lucas dimly registered two more impacts, and had a few seconds to wonder what exactly was going on. But all thought was lost when the truck crashed into the ocean floor a moment later, and Lucas too lost consciousness. 

*******

Saturday, April 26, 1:45 A.M.

SeaQuest's Infirmary

He tried not to hear what they were saying as he slowly regained consciousness. When he was certain that he had heard it, he tried to deny it to himself. It wasn't possible. It was his mind playing tricks on him. It was a very bad dream, brought on by stress. It was a sick, sick joke, perpetrated on him by the captain because Lucas had told him about what had happened in the city. It was anything but what he was hearing.

"How long do you think he's going to be out?" The concerned voice of the captain cut through the fog in his brain, and he realized that it was neither a bad joke, nor was it going to go away.

"Hard to say, honestly. He's just got a little concussion, but they can be tricky things. He'll probably be awake soon, though." Doctor Westphalen's voice was a little weak, and it struck him as odd that such a strong woman sounded as though she had been crying.

He heard motion then, and a hand touched his shoulder. "I'll just stay with him, then. Why don't you go try to get some sleep?"

"I could try, but I know that I won't sleep. Not now. Not while there's still any hope." The doctor sounded as though she was close to tears again, and he strained to speak, to tell them to stop saying things like that. To drown out the accusing voices in his head.

"I know. But you should try, Kristin; it's nearly two."

"What about you? Shouldn't you be asleep? You're obviously exhausted. And just what are you going to tell him when he wakes up? You should just let me give him a sedative, and he'll sleep till morning." Every fiber of his being wanted to agree with the doctor, but he knew that it would just be a lie. What difference would it make if the captain told him the next day? Nothing would have changed.

"I won't be able to sleep any more than you will. And no, I don't want a sedative, for either of us." Was it his imagination, or did the captain's voice quaver a bit when he continued? "And I'll tell him the truth. He deserves to know."

"Would you make all this effort to tell Lucas, if their positions were reversed?" That was the doctor, always trying to be reasonable, even in situations that positively demanded the opposite.

"That's an entirely different situation, Kristin. Lucas is just a…" The captain's voice broke off in a strangled sob, and he felt the hand move from his shoulder.

"Oh God, Nathan, I'm so sorry…" Again, he heard motion, as the doctor presumably moved to comfort the captain. Listening to the private moment, he wished both that he could open his eyes, and that they would never open again. 

"A boy, Kristin, he's just a boy…"

"They'll find him, Nathan. They have to."

Suddenly, the room was filled with tension, and he couldn't figure out why. The answer was quickly supplied, though, as the captain spoke. "That's exactly what Carol said, you know. But it's not true. They don't have to do anything. We could just spend the rest of our lives wondering." Bridger's voice was eerily calm, but spoke volumes in pain.

He heard the doctor start crying, and the sound was slightly muffled by something, possibly the captain's chest. At that point, he wasn't sure whether he still couldn't open his eyes or just didn't want to. The 'didn't want to' part was certainly getting stronger by the second, though, and his eyes were beginning to feel as though they were glued shut.

Just as he had decided to try again, the captain said the blessed words that he hadn't thought would come. "You're right. We're in no shape to do this. Sedate Krieg. We can talk to him in the morning."

The doctor scrambled to follow the captain's instructions, and Krieg was grateful. His reprieve may have been a lie, but he was grateful for it anyway. His last rather incoherent thought as he drifted back into a troubled sleep, was to wonder if it were possible to trade in himself for Lucas. It wasn't a fair trade and he knew it, but he would have given anything for it to be allowed anyway.

*******

Saturday, April 26, 7:00 A.M.

The waters beneath San Francisco Bay

It was the light that woke him. That strange wavering light; refracted by many feet of water. It was a sight that he was familiar with, certainly, but not a sight that he was used to waking up to. He found himself looking up from the ocean floor, water swirling all around him, and he panicked. He was underwater, and with no way to breathe. It took him nearly thirty seconds to realize the simple fact that he was breathing, and having no difficulty doing so.

After a few minutes of scientific observation, he realized that he was not breathing water. It was most certainly air that he was pulling into his lungs, as it felt no different than it usually did. He was at the bottom of San Francisco Bay, wearing his street clothes and watching the fish swim by, and it felt no different than lying in his bunk back on the ship. 

The whole thing was quite tinged with unreality, and he quickly decided that it was a dream. It made perfect sense, dreaming about being able to breathe underwater. He lived on a submarine; he worked with a dolphin. He loved the ocean; it only made sense that he would dream about being able to breathe underwater. And it wasn't as if his mind could comprehend what it felt like to breathe water, so it wasn't incorporated into the dream.

He sat up, feeling a bit stiff, and remembered the accident. That must be it. The doctor had drugged him when he and Ben had been brought in off the truck. He must have still been unconscious then, and still was. He wondered idly, as he watched a school of fish swim right by his face, if they had figured out yet what happened to the truck. It had felt to him like a purposeful attack, but maybe he was just getting paranoid after living on the SeaQuest for eight months. It seemed like every week SeaQuest was dealing with an armed takeover attempt or something similar.

It quickly brought him back to reality, though, when one of the fish swam directly through his head. He jumped to his feet, scattering the fish momentarily. What kind of crazy dream was this!? 'Lucas, my friend,' he thought to himself, 'you have really gone over the edge this time.' 

It was definitely time to wake up. The only problem with that, it seemed, was that his mind appeared to be ignoring the direct order that he gave it to wake up. He was not only not waking up, but he was still planted quite firmly on the bottom of the San Francisco Bay. This dream was becoming decidedly less cool and more scary as the moments passed. 

Not knowing what else to do, he headed in the direction he thought the city was in. He would have headed toward the SeaQuest, but it was a huge ocean and quite easy to get lost in. While he kept telling himself that he was just dreaming, every step made him believe it less, and he did not want to be stranded in the middle of the ocean. Yes, best to get to shore. If, by some scary train of logic that his mind refused to process, he actually were on the bottom of the bay and walking toward land, he would call the captain when he reached shore.

The situation quickly changed when he reached shore, though. The first thing that he found was the disturbing truth that he was not dreaming. He became sure of that very quickly, as he was rather certain that it was impossible to have such a detailed dream. People walked by him, some stopping to give him funny looks now and then, cars on every street, and nothing even slightly familiar. It was like no dream he had ever had, but it was a lot like oh… walking down the streets of San Francisco. 

The second thing that he found was that he couldn't call the captain. Not because the lines weren't working or because he didn't have the spare change, no, nothing so nice and mundane could ever happen to Lucas Wolenczak. Simply put, he couldn't call the captain because he couldn't touch the phone. He had walked up to the pay phone as anyone would, and reached out to pick up the receiver. And his hand had gone right through it. Trying very hard not to hyperventilate at that, he had continued walking, just to calm himself.

The third thing he found turned out to be the most disturbing thing of all. As he turned a corner and found himself at a newsstand, he took a brief glance at the newspaper headlines. And he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle. It featured a huge picture of him in a wet suit, standing next to Darwin. The headline was 'Child Genius Dies in Tragic Accident.' 


	2. Chapter Two

Seriously, all I can say is... Wow. I am truly amazed by the response on just the first chapter. Every review totally made my day; my sincerest thanks to everyone who took the time to tell me what you thought. It's really encouraging to hear that people want to see where I'm going with this.

Karel: You're absolutely right, upon reflection I can see where that would be confusing. I was trying to get Ben and Lucas alone in a vehicle for it to be attacked though, and I couldn't think of another way to do it. My assumption was that it would be stored on the seaQuest.

I also want to thank Diena in particular, for her offer to beta read and the awesome job she did at it. I feel much better, having someone to watch for my stupid mistakes. ;)

Anyone want to take a guess at the crossover? I have a cookie for the person who gets it right...

*******

Saturday, April 26, 9:30 A.M.

San Francisco

Lucas stood there staring for a long moment, until he realized that eventually someone was going to recognize him if he kept standing there looking at his own picture in the paper. He wanted to buy a copy, but somehow that didn't strike him as a good idea, as it was certain to get the attention of someone. Of course, it didn't matter anyway. He couldn't touch anything.

It probably didn't matter that he couldn't read it though, as it was far too early to have anything about what had happened. The article would probably be a bare-bones recounting of his accomplishments, and the basic circumstances and place of his death, all of which he was already quite familiar with. Beside all that, he wasn't sure that he wanted to know all the gory details when they were published. Things like 'His father was unavailable for comment, and didn't leave the World Power Hydro-Electric Plant to attend the funeral', and 'The accident had no survivors' drifted through his head. Things that may or may not have been true, but that he didn't really want to hear about if they were. It was much better to just believe that his father would find it in his heart to care for once, and that Ben was just fine.

He started walking, not sure where he was going, but not sure that it mattered either. He had nowhere to go, and it wasn't like anyone could mug him if he got into a bad part of town. But then, with the direction his luck was going, he would find that the one person who could somehow touch him would be his prospective mugger…

It was a good thing Lucas already knew that ghosts existed, or the scientist in him couldn't have handled the notion that he had become one. He didn't particularly like the idea that he was dead, but he also didn't see a lot of other explanations for what was going on. People didn't just turn incorporeal for no apparent reason. At least, he had never heard of such a thing.

Going back over the events of his morning, he tried to catalogue it all scientifically. That was a bit of a difficult prospect, considering the somewhat distracting voice in the back of his head yelling 'Who cares? You're dead, stupid!' He continued to wander, trying to calm his frantic mind enough to think straight, and found himself in a local park.

Looking around for a secluded place to sit, he slowly began the process of making sense of his predicament. It certainly explained the funny looks he had been getting all morning, the fact that people thought he was supposed to be dead. He also wondered if his incorporeality showed somehow, like being translucent. That would certainly fit in with his limited experience with ghosts, though it seemed to him that more people would have noticed his strange appearance if that were the case. It was a big city though, and in California. Maybe the residents were just used to odd goings-on. 

He hoped that the way people had been staring at him had been because he looked strange, and not because they recognized him. The last thing he wanted was a newspaper article saying that the ghost of Lucas Wolenczak was wandering the streets of San Francisco. 

Finding a nice out-of-the-way place to sit, Lucas was so consumed by his train of thought that he briefly forgot all about the practicalities of his situation. It quickly came flooding back when he tried to sit down on a park bench, though. For a fraction of a second, he could have sworn that he felt the bench beneath him. That feeling passed the second he realized what he was doing, and that it wasn't going to work.

"Well that was smart, Wolenczak." He muttered aloud to himself as he landed hard on the ground. He could almost hear Ben's always-amused voice in his head saying, 'And they call you a genius?'

Standing up and brushing himself off in an unconscious gesture, born of habit rather than necessity, he looked around for a better place to sit. It took him all of twenty seconds to realize that there wasn't going to be a better place to sit. He was stuck with the ground. At least it would make hiding easier, he thought, trying to cheer himself up. Picturing himself hiding from the captain's wrath by slipping through the nearest wall was amusing for all of fifteen seconds, before he remembered that he had no way of contacting the captain, let alone returning to the ship. Heck, the ship not being on the ground, he would probably fall right through it.

The first thing that he decided about his situation was that it would be for the best to be seen as little as possible. The more people saw him, the more likely it became that someone would recognize him, and that word would get back to people he didn't particularly want to know about his situation. It would probably start with his friends, sure, but he wasn't even certain that he wanted them to know about it. If he was a ghost, then his time was probably limited, and he didn't really want them to have to live through his death twice. Besides, he thought, a live Lucas had annoyed them quite enough. A dead one would probably be much worse. 

And of course, if his friends found out, it became inevitable that the government would find out. Even if it were just the UEO, they would want to experiment on him, to find out what made him tick. The thought of spending the rest of his natural… err, unnatural… life locked up, being poked and prodded by a team of scientists, was not something that he had any interest in. He didn't know exactly how they would lock up, poke, or prod him; but he knew the UEO, and when they were determined to do something, they found a way to do it. And the scary part was that as far as governments went, they were his best option.

From his experience with ghosts, he remembered that something had to be keeping his spirit there, but he couldn't imagine what he had to keep him on Earth. It wasn't that he didn't love his friends, or that there weren't many things that he would have loved to do before he died, but he assumed that most people had loved ones and things left undone. Most of them didn't become ghosts. If they did, there would have been far more ghosts in the world. It had to be something a bit more pressing than that, and he couldn't think of what it could be.

His instinct was naturally to go to the library, or to find a computer on which to study up about his condition, but that was rather obviously impossible. Putting his head down on his knees, he stared at the ground in front of him. There didn't seem to be anything he could do at all. Never before in his life had he felt so incredibly useless.

He quickly became bored to death -so to speak- of sitting in the park doing nothing, and resorted to working complex physics problems in his head. It didn't really help much, though; it just made him want to go work on his latest program. Or run a viral sweep on the seaQuest's mainframe. Even that would have been more fun than sitting in the park, feeling hopeless, scared, and more alone than he ever had before.

Just after nightfall, he decided to go to the local library that he thought he remembered seeing on his way to the park. It took him nearly an hour to find it, partially because he had been paying so little attention to where he'd been going that morning, and partially because he was doing his best to keep from being seen. He kept to the shadows as much as possible, and slipped into nearby alleyways when large groups of people walked by him. He knew that he wouldn't have any more to do at the library than he had at the park, but it would at least feel more comfortable than being outside. And maybe someone would have left a newspaper or a book open, so that he could at least read something…

He slipped quietly into the library, careful not to be noticed by the woman behind the main desk, and hid in one of the conference rooms until they closed up for the night. When he saw the last of the lights go out, he slipped back into the main room, pacing through the rows of books repeatedly. Looking at book spines, trying to remember which books he had read and which books he had meant to read, made him feel a little more normal, if only for a little while. 

Looking through the seating area, he scanned the newspapers that had been left lying out. He managed to read parts of many articles, which was more frustrating than helpful really, because he hated reading half a story. Although he had decided against reading the article about himself, curiosity quickly got the best of him. He wondered how many of the facts they had gotten wrong, if they had talked to his friends, or a bit more gruesomely, if they had found his body. He wasn't really sure why he wondered any of those things, but it was all suddenly very important to him. Determinedly, he started searching for an open copy of the Chronicle.

It took him half an hour to find any copy of that paper, and the only one that he found was quite fortunately open to page eight, where they had the continuation of the cover story about him. From the small part of the article that he was able to read, his assumption about what it would contain had been correct except for one thing. That one thing alone made him grateful that he had decided to go to the library: It said that Ben was alive. It didn't give his name, as Ben was a military officer and they were still investigating the accident, but it was rather obvious whom they were talking about. "The only other person in the vehicle was recovered without serious injury" was kind of a giveaway. At least Lucas didn't have to worry about that anymore. 

Giving up on the newspapers, he started pacing through the building again, feeling at the same time emotionally drained and filled with nervous energy. While considering that fact, he wondered if it were even possible to feel that way. Shrugging, he decided that there wasn't much point in examining his emotions. It wasn't terribly shocking that he wasn't in prime mental condition. He was dead, after all. Death had to be at least a little traumatic, didn't it? 

After quite a bit of pacing, the stresses of the day started to catch up with him. He suddenly felt completely exhausted, and found himself a corner to sit in. Lying down on his stomach, he told himself it was just a coincidence that the corner he had chosen had a clear view of the library's computers. Then he put his chin down on his hands in front of him and glared balefully at the offending machines. No, it wasn't at all because he was torturing himself with what he wanted desperately but couldn't have. He wondered if he suddenly had two personalities, because one of them was certainly in denial. 

Trying to stop thinking, he closed his eyes and hoped for the nightmare to end.

The next conscious thought that crossed his mind was that he had heard a noise. Pulling his head up, he looked around and saw light pouring into the room from windows in every direction. Still a bit groggy, it took him a moment to figure out that the sound he had heard was the librarian opening the front door. 

Jumping to his feet, he cringed when she turned and looked in his direction. When she started walking his way, he panicked. Taking a few steps backward, he found himself almost completely immersed in a large bookshelf. It was convenient, certainly, to hopefully keep her from seeing him. However, it was a very disturbing feeling, occupying the same space as something else. It made him feel somehow… less real.

Mulling over the disturbing nature of being incorporeal, it took him a few moments to notice that she had not seen him at all. She had been heading over to the computers, and was in the process of turning them on for the morning. Letting out the breath that he had been holding; he waited until she turned away and walked toward the front desk before moving back out of the bookshelf. 

When she went into the back office to turn the lights on for the morning, he sprinted for the door. As quickly as possible, he found himself a quiet, dark alleyway to sit down in. Breathing heavily, it took a few moments for his scattered thoughts to coalesce into a few sober realizations.

First, he had fallen asleep in the library. Did ghosts sleep?

Second, he was not only still breathing, but he was also winded from running. That couldn't be instinct, it was the desperate need of his lungs for oxygen. So if he didn't have a body, then why did he need to breathe?

That didn't seem right at all…

*******

Sunday, April 27, 9:00 A.M.

SeaQuest DSV, Bridge

Sunday mornings were never the busiest time of the week on the bridge of the SeaQuest, but that particular Sunday morning seemed quiet even in comparison to most. It seemed quiet in comparison to almost anything, in fact. If asked, Commander Ford would have said that it was because of the absence of one trouble-making lieutenant, who was still stuck in the infirmary despite the lack of a serious injury. It would have been dodging the real issue of course, but that was the way that he had decided to deal with the issue. Ignoring it was easier than admitting the truth, even if only to himself.

People probably wouldn't have believed the executive officer to be so affected by the accident; he seemed nearly the same as he always did. Of course, no one really seemed to notice anything that morning. They were all too wrapped up in their own thoughts on the accident. Ford just hoped that there was no oncoming crisis that day; the crew couldn't have handled it with their usual efficiency. They probably couldn't have handled it at all.

For his own part, Ford thought that he was acting quite out of character. He even felt badly for Ben Krieg, a situation that he couldn't recall ever having been in previously. When he had seen the lieutenant the day before, the man had seemed so unlike himself. The usually convivial, animated man had been so serious and quiet, something that the commander thought he would have killed to see on any other occasion. In that particular situation, it had just made Ford feel a bit nauseous, and inspired him to find an excuse to leave as soon as possible. The whole crew seemed to be feeling guilty just for continuing to live, and Krieg had more reason than most to feel that way. While he wished nothing more than to be able to reassure his friends that everything would be all right, Jonathan Ford was just not a comforting man. 

The lieutenant and himself were not the only crewmembers who were acting strangely, though. Everyone was at least a little off, some much more so than others.

It had been obvious to everyone the day before that Krieg was not only physically well, but also fit to return to duty. Well, as fit as the man ever was for duty. Doctor Westphalen had insisted on keeping him 'under observation' though, and from what the commander could tell, it appeared to be her way of coping. She couldn't make everything better, but at least she could take care of Krieg, and she was going to do that to death. 

The doctor was taking her mothering instinct out on Captain Bridger as well, though Ford saw more sense in that. The captain seemed to need her there, reminding him to eat and sleep, just to be able to continue on. It was the first time in Commander Ford's memory that he had been shown just how fragile Bridger could be. The captain always seemed to be the strongest man that Ford knew, but the pain and loss that he had experienced over and over in his life made him particularly sensitive to the situation they were in. He supposed that old saying 'Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger' wasn't quite true after all. It probably wasn't helping the captain that Darwin hadn't been seen much since the accident either. The dolphin had been spending almost all of his time off the ship. It was as if he knew that something wasn't right, and didn't want to deal with it any more than the crew did.

Even the always-dependable, perfectly reliable Commander Hitchcock wasn't being herself. The day before, she had called in a replacement and left her bridge post early. Ford had rather unthinkingly asked her if she was feeling well, and her only response had been a short nod. She had paused a moment with her back to him, and taken a few deep breaths. When she had turned back, it had been all he could manage to look her in the eyes and try to ignore the unshed tears in them. "I- I have to go work on… " It had taken her a few seconds to speak again, but when she did, everyone on the bridge had known exactly what she was thinking of. "The Stinger" She had practically fled the room then, leaving behind a stunned bridge crew. 

The only person on the SeaQuest who seemed to be acting in character was Tim O'Neill. He was sitting at his station praying, and Ford found himself wishing that he had such firm belief in a faith. Any faith, it didn't really matter. As long as it convinced him that everything happened for a reason, even this, he would have been happy. At least someone on the ship believed that things would work out for the best. The communications officer seemed to be the only one who did.  


It was Chief Ortiz that Ford felt worst for, though. He was the one doing the searching, the one who had to shake his head every time a hopeful crewmember would look to him in askance. He was one who looked as though he hadn't slept at all the night before; the one who looked as though the weight of the world was firmly planted on his shoulders, and his knees were about to buckle. Ford made a mental note to suggest that Ortiz receive counseling after the whole ordeal was over. He wasn't a big believer in psychiatry, but if there were anyone on the ship who would need someone to talk to, it would probably be Ortiz. 

It had been over twenty-four hours, though, and everyone knew what that meant. It wasn't really a search-and-rescue operation anymore. It was recovery. And even that wasn't likely, considering how turbulent the waters of the Bay had been the previous night. The commander felt a little ill when he thought of explaining that to the captain. He knew that Lucas' father wasn't likely to care about it, or possibly even to notice; but for Nathan Bridger it would be a nightmarish episode of history repeating itself, and he had no idea how the captain would handle it.

Commander Ford was not looking forward to the next few weeks.


	3. Chapter Three

Once again, many thanks to Diena for the great job she did with my mess, and to everyone who reviewed chapter two. Like any author, I live for reviews, and particularly appreciate the well thought out, detailed ones I've been receiving here. Future chapters might not be quite as fast in coming as this one, but I promise that they will come!

Okay, my crossover is finally addressed in this chapter... No one guessed it, but I have to be impressed with sara for remembering that movie, which is where I got the idea of Lucas thinking that he was a ghost.

*******

Sunday, April 27, 10:00 A.M.

San Francisco

Testing his new theory out, Lucas very quickly determined that it was correct. He was breathing, and he very much needed to do so. He tried to stop, or even just slow his breathing, but the only thing he accomplished was making himself dizzy.

Did that mean he was still alive? 

He tried not to think too hard about that possibility, even though his discovery seemed to make it probable. He had learned very early on in life to expect the worst; that way, he was occasionally pleasantly surprised.

His unexpected flight from the library had also reminded him that he'd been in an accident only two days before. Every part of his body suddenly seemed to hurt, and he realized that was another piece of the puzzle. The problem was that each piece he found seemed to belong to a different puzzle. 

Leaning against the building behind him, he ran the facts through his head over and over again, but nothing seemed to connect. If he were a ghost he shouldn't have had a body at all, in which case he wouldn't have needed to breathe or sleep. But what, other than a ghost, was intangible? Perhaps he was just looking at it from the wrong angle, or he was just missing something simple, but he couldn't figure it out. 

It was a frustrating feeling, ignorance, and one that was quite unfamiliar to him. Lucas wasn't one to give up on an unsolved riddle, but he had no ideas, and he didn't see a lot of other options. He was sitting alone in an alley, with no way to do anything. No way to research anything, no way to contact anyone, and no way to get on with any semblance of a real life.

Before he even realized that he was still tired, he had started to doze off again. Mentally shrugging, he figured that if he couldn't do anything useful he might as well get the rest that he obviously needed. In a matter of moments, he was fast asleep again. In his exhaustion, he didn't even awaken when he fell backward. 

A few hours later, when he began to awaken, the first thought that managed to make itself apparent in his mind was that he was officially a vagrant. He had slept in an alley. He had also been wearing the same clothes for three days, and sleeping in them as well. His father would be so proud…

Shaking his head as if it would rid him of the pessimistic thought, he opened his eyes, only to find himself in complete darkness. Not the darkness of night, but an absolute blackness unlike anything he had previously experienced.

'Well, that's what you get for thinking that things couldn't get worse.' He thought to himself cynically. 

The way things were going; he probably would get mugged next. Of course, the money in his wallet wasn't helping him any, so a mugger might as well have it. At least it would actually go to some use, even if it was probably going to be drugs or something equally stupid.

Fortunately, when he pulled himself off the ground, the nature of the problem became apparent. He had been lying half inside a building, and couldn't see anything through it. Breathing a sigh of relief, it took him a few seconds to wonder how that had happened. He had been a restless sleeper before arriving on the seaQuest, but the size of his bunk on the ship had taught him not to move around so much in his sleep. Had he simply reverted to type when he had the space to do so? No, that didn't seem right. It hadn't happened at the library. He had woken up in the exact same position there that he had fallen asleep in. He knew that for a fact, as it had been a rather uncomfortable position to sleep in, and his back still hurt from it.

He heard a loud growl then, from the general direction of his stomach. It had been rather quiet up to that point, and what with his many other problems, food had been the last thing on his mind. From the feeling in his stomach, the sudden hunger was not just instinct kicking in. It was an actual need for food. If he hadn't been sure before, that certainly clinched his suspicions. There was no way he could be a ghost; ghosts did not eat.

So that left him with yet more pieces to the frustrating puzzle that still made absolutely no sense. He was sure that his sleeping position was an important clue, but he had no idea why or how. The fact that he was hungry was another sign that he was still very much alive, but it didn't make sense. At least it seemed unquestionable that he was still alive, though. It was a nice thought, the first one he'd had in quite a while, that he hadn't died a seventeen-year-old virgin. 

As the relief of not being dead began to subside, the random thoughts running through his subconscious finally began to react with each other, to converge as one. Being incorporeal wasn't the problem in and of itself, it was just a sign of the underlying issue. The fact that he was intangible wasn't the fact that could connect him to the truth; it was the fact that he was perfectly healthy that was important. That was what told him that…

It hit him then, with the full force of an actual blow. He wasn't a ghost. He was a mutant.

*******

Monday, April 28, 7:40 A.M.

SeaQuest DSV, Bridge

He had arrived for his shift twenty minutes early, not that anyone had really noticed. He just quietly walked over to his station and relieved the officer from the night shift. No one said anything to him, not even 'good morning', but he didn't really expect them to. People didn't really seem to notice most things that Tim O'Neill did. 

Just before eight, his colleagues began to filter onto the bridge. Commander Ford had given Miguel the day off, a fact that both pleased and depressed Tim. Miguel definitely needed the time off, he was looking about as haggard as humanly possible, and Tim had an idea what he was going through. On the other hand, it meant that no one would probably talk to him all day, other than to give or receive orders. 

It wasn't that Tim didn't like or get along with the crew, that couldn't have been further from the truth. He was just too shy to make friends that easily, and Miguel was his only close friend on the ship. And he needed that more than anything else in the world at that moment.

He hadn't been particularly close to Lucas, though they had been friendly enough. People seemed to think that they had far more in common than they did, just because they were both intelligent. The truth was that Lucas had still been a teenage boy, and as such, far more suited to the company of someone like Ben Krieg than that of a quiet communications officer. The entire bridge crew had been rather attached to the boy, though, and Tim was no exception. 

Even if he hadn't thought of Lucas as the crew's official little brother, Tim would have been at a loss over Lucas' death. His religion told him that everything happened for a reason, but as hard as he had looked, he could find no reason for this. The boy had been a genius, and probably would have been one of the world's greatest scientists as an adult. He could have quite literally made the world a better place, and now that possibility was gone. Suddenly and violently, in an attack that couldn't have had anything to do with the boy at all. Who would have wanted Lucas Wolenczak dead? What reason could there have been for such a thing?

He knew that he would find no answers, though. Briefly glancing heavenward, Tim knew that some small part of him held out hope for Lucas being alive because of that. If there were no reason that the boy should be dead, then he must be alive, right? He wouldn't tell the crew that of course, they would just think him stranger than before. But until he had hard proof otherwise, at least part of him would believe Lucas to be alive.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a flashing light and a sound in his ear. A transmission, on a priority channel. Turning toward Captain Bridger, Tim spoke for the first time that morning. "Sir? There's an incoming transmission."

Nodding, the captain told him to put it on the main screen. Tim nodded in return, and transferred the call to the screen. It wasn't until he heard the collective –if quiet- gasp from the rest of the bridge crew that he realized anything was out of the ordinary.

Turning to have a look at what had shocked everyone, a large part of him hoped that it was Lucas, even though he knew how unlikely that was. The truth was even more depressing than the fact that it wasn't Lucas. He may not have known the man personally, but anyone that had ever read a newspaper would know the face of Dr. Lawrence Wolenczak. 

Tim was a bit surprised at the venom that he had for the man, but decided that he was justified in it. This was the man who had completely missed Lucas' birthday a few months before, who had never in eight months even bothered to contact his son. Tim may have been one of the only people on the ship who knew that, but he knew the parties involved in nearly every incoming and outgoing call on the ship, and Lawrence Wolenczak's name had never been on any of his lists. Really, just the fact that the man had sent his sixteen-year-old son to a submarine was enough to irritate Tim. Sending one's own son into a potentially dangerous situation didn't seem very paternal to him.

"Dr. Wolenczak. What a surprise."

What didn't surprise Tim at all was the unconcealed hostility in the captain's voice. Everyone knew that the man had thought of Lucas as a son, and Wolenczak had always acted as though he didn't. The captain was not in a state of mind to deal well with that fact, and everyone on the bridge knew it. Tim could tell by looking at him that Commander Ford was considering stepping in, and everyone else on the bridge looked worried as well. He considered cutting the call and pleading ignorance as to what had happened, but decided to give the doctor a chance. Maybe the man was calling for a good reason. His son was dead, after all. He was probably in as much pain as anyone else who had known Lucas.

"Captain Bridger." Disdain was apparent in the man's voice, and the grating of teeth could be distinctly heard throughout the bridge. Was that coming from Commander Ford? 

"Is there something that you needed, Doctor? I'm sure you know that we're quite busy here." The captain had tried to control the overt anger in his tone, and it came out a completely flat monotone instead. It wasn't hard to see that the call was going to take a heavy toll on the captain, he already looked exhausted.

"Yes, there is something. I suggest that we speak in private, Captain." If anything, the man's voice had just become even more disdainful. The entire bridge crew was bristling at the disrespect aimed at their captain.

"Quite frankly, Doctor, I don't have the time for that. Unless it involves classified information, you can say it now, in front of my people." Bridger's tone had gone steely, and he had drawn himself up to his full height. It didn't have quite the same effect as it would have in person, but Wolenczak seemed to get the idea. 

"Very well, Captain. I want my son's things sent to me as soon as possible." The man emphasized the word 'my', as if reminding the captain that Lucas had not been his own. 

For a second, everyone just stared at the screen in shock. Was the man truly so mercenary that all he cared about was Lucas' belongings? Tim's hand hovered over the disconnect switch.

When the captain responded, his voice was filled with a tightly controlled anger. "Excuse me?" Tim could only think that the doctor was lucky that he wasn't actually on the ship, or someone would almost certainly have hit him by that point.   


"My son's belongings, Captain Bridger. I want them sent to me, immediately." Though the man's tone of voice offered no room for questions, there was no possibility of him getting away with his demand. At least, Tim hoped that there wasn't. It just seemed somehow wrong, the idea of sending Lucas' things off the ship. 

Looking back over at the captain, Tim decided that Dr. Wolenczak had about as much chance of getting Lucas' things delivered as he personally had of being offered the captaincy of the seaQuest. The captain had turned a little red, and appeared to be struggling to keep from yelling. Or maybe he was just struggling to keep breathing. He did that for nearly a minute, as everyone on the bridge watched him nervously, the only sound was the captain's carefully measured breathing.

When Captain Bridger did speak, it was painfully obvious that he was trying very hard not to lose his temper. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Dr. Wolenczak."

It was the doctor's turn to be annoyed. "Excuse me?"

"It is not common practice on this ship to send the belongings of our crewmembers to just anyone who requests them." The captain sounded very strained and overly formal. He was rather clearly on the losing side of the battle with his temper. 

"Just anyone who requests them!?" came the disbelieving response of Lucas' father. "What do you mean 'just anyone'? My son is dead, and I damned well want his things sent to me, Bridger!" The doctor was yelling at that point, and as red in the face as the captain. That was when Tim figured it out. Wolenczak may not have been a decent father, or any sort of father at all, but he was hurting as much as the crew of the seaQuest. Lucas had been his son, and because of the horrific circumstances he was finally realizing the dreadful mistakes he had made. Despite himself, Tim pitied the man.

The captain had no such complicated notions. He plainly thought that the doctor's motives were questionable at best, and made no attempt to hide that. The fact that Wolenczak had lost his temper seemed to be the last straw for Captain Bridger, because he ceased to make any attempt to hide his feelings on the matter. "Look, you vulture, I'm not giving you Lucas' things. I don't know what you want them for, but it's not going to happen, Wolenczak."

The doctor was stunned by the response, but reacted quickly. "How dare you, Bridger? He was my son! I have a right to his belongings, and unless you see to it I'll contact your superior officer about this."

"You do that, Doctor, and I'll tell him the same thing I'm telling you. You can have Lucas' things when you produce his body." Everyone present gasped at the statement. It was a cruel and ghastly thing to say to anyone, let alone to pass from one grieving father to another. Even Wolenczak looked ill at the harsh words. The blow was softened a bit by Bridger's next words, though, which left everyone speechless. "Because until you produce a body, Doctor Wolenczak, I will consider Lucas alive, and no one will be looting his personal effects while he is still alive."

That said, the captain cut the communication and marched off the bridge. The whole conversation left Tim wondering even more. Had the captain said those things just to put the man off, or had he meant them? The possibility that he had meant them somehow made Tim feel a little bit less crazy. If Captain Bridger believed that Lucas was alive, then maybe it wasn't such a crazy notion at all.

*******

Yep, that's it... It's the X-Men. I don't own them, nor do I make a dime writing about them. Heck, I'm probably losing money writing fanfiction instead of doing something more productive, like oh... getting a job.... So please, Marvel, don't sue me!


	4. Chapter Four

Many thanks to everyone who reviewed; I love you guys! All opinions are much appreciated, and please feel free to e-mail me about the story as well if you'd like.

Because a few people have indicated a complete lack of knowledge about the X-Men, I've included a basic explanation of the world's background. It's not precisely a 'canon' description, but I believe it is quite close to the original 'Marvel' background. Hope that it doesn't bore anyone who's already familiar with the X-Men to death.

* hugs Diena * As always, awesome job. ;) 

*******

Just over a hundred years before Lucas' birth, the first mutants were born. They were humans with extraordinary inborn powers, some useful, some not, and some downright dangerous. No two were ever born quite the same; one would have the ability to heal quickly, another would be able start fires with just a thought, and yet another would sprout wings during puberty. They went largely unnoticed at first; ignored, hidden, or explained away as miracles by the people who witnessed their powers. But more of them were born with every passing year, and before two decades had passed, they became impossible to ignore. 

The governments of the world saw them as a new resource to exploit, and scientists saw them as fascinating new test subjects, but the average people of the world were split on the subject from the start. On the one hand, there were those who saw them as a step in human evolution, a hope for the future of mankind. On the other, there were those who saw them as a threat, interlopers whose goal was almost certainly the destruction of humanity. 

Fortunately, those who feared mutants had very little to aim their fear at. The mutants of the early twentieth century were quite few and far between, and their powers were usually minor, gaining them little attention by the general public. They used their powers sparingly, most of them never comprehending how important or unusual they were.

By the early 1930's, though, mutants were becoming more powerful, and much more noticeable. The politicians of the word, sensing the oncoming trouble in Europe, made efforts to offer all known mutants contracts to work for their government. This was known as 'The Golden Era of Mutantkind', and was the only time that mutants as a whole had a good reputation with nearly all the world's humans.

When World War II finished in the mid-1940's, things changed very quickly for mutants. Those who had worked for Hitler's Third Reich were put on trial for war crimes, and were paraded before the world as 'the most horrific criminals the world had ever seen'. For the first time, people began to understand just what mutants could do under the wrong circumstances. Instead of remembering that perfectly normal humans, not mutants, had engineered the most horrible acts of the war, the people looked to the Nazi mutants for scapegoats. 

With the 1950's came the cold war, and more reason to fear mutants. Many mutants kept on with their governments, and worked as agents in the war, killing thousands of people in the line of duty. Those who chose not to continue working for their governments went home, like all soldiers. Also like all soldiers, some of them had problems re-adjusting to life at home. Before long, the world had its first mutant criminals.

As humanity tends to do, people forgot about the service that mutants had done for their countries, and judged the whole on the actions of a few. The situation did not improve when the mutant known as Magneto surfaced, bringing with him a holy war against humanity. 'We must kill them,' he told mutants everywhere, 'before they kill us.' A very charismatic man taking advantage of a very ugly situation, Magneto soon had a considerable following among mutants. The decades passed, and the situation reached a standstill. Mutants continued to be societal outcasts, but were never ejected from society entirely.

Even in the modern age of 'enlightenment', mutants remained an enigma to humankind. No one ever determined why they existed, or whether their population would continue to grow in future generations. The debates still raged as to whether they were a step forward in human evolution or just accidents of nature, caused by pollution or other atmospheric conditions. There seemed to be no answers, and the mutants of the world waited and worried. They could only hope that eventually they would be able to retake their rightful places in society, that perhaps someday there would be no further need to hide.

*******

Monday, April 28, 3:00 A.M.

An alley in downtown San Francisco

That was it, then. 

He was a mutant. 

It was the only answer, and it made perfect sense. He had heard of a mutant that could become intangible at will before. She was one of those 'X-Men' terrorists. 

Great, just what he needed, to be compared to a terrorist, even if only by himself. 

That certainly clinched a few things for him, though. He couldn't go back to the ship, or any other part of his old life, even if he suddenly became substantial again. He was still a mutant, and eventually that would come out if he went back. Better to be dead than to be a freak twice over. Being 'the boy genius' had been bad enough. Being 'the mutant freak/boy genius' would be worse than being dead. If his father ever found out… He tried not to shudder, thinking about that. He'd probably be disowned, and that would be the best possible option. Knowing his father, he'd probably take Lucas to one of his scientist friends, and try to have him 'fixed'. 

Although he didn't want to be a mutant, he didn't even want to consider what they would put him through while trying to 'cure' him of it. It also seemed somehow distasteful to try to cure him of his own DNA. He may have been a freak twice over, but the idea of changing the fact that he was a mutant seemed almost like the notion of getting a lobotomy in order to fit in with other kids his own age.

His stomach gave a grumble, and he put a hand to it as if that would somehow soothe the sudden ache in his midsection. That was when he had a second epiphany. If he didn't figure out how to control his 'power', and soon, he would starve to death. He had heard that mutants were dangerous plenty of times, but he hadn't ever heard that being a mutant was dangerous. 

How was he supposed to figure it out, though? It wasn't as if just because he knew what he was, the answers had suddenly all appeared in his head. Knowing that he was a mutant wasn't even half the battle. 

He went to the far end of the alley, where he hoped that he wouldn't be seen, and started trying to figure out how to become tangible. If his efforts could really be called that, anyway. Really, he was just putting his hand through the same wall over and over again. 

Nothing.

No resistance, no feeling, nothing at all happened, no matter how many times he tried to touch the wall in front of him. He tried concentrating, he tried not concentrating, he tried to mentally force his will upon the wall, and he got no response whatsoever. 

Rather frantically, he tried to understand what he was doing wrong. 

It occurred to him that perhaps he wasn't doing anything wrong. Maybe his newfound powers didn't allow for him to turn substantial again. Which would mean that being a mutant was going to kill him. 

He had already determined that he wasn't ready to be dead, so the thought that he was going to die slowly and in considerable pain wasn't a happy one. Exactly when that would have been a happy thought, he had no idea. He briefly considered going home to the seaQuest to get help. It was an easily dismissed idea, though, as he doubted that they knew any more about being a mutant than he did. They wouldn't be any help, but they would have to watch him starve if he didn't learn how to become normal again. 

No, he would not be going back to the ship.

There just wasn't an answer. He couldn't get help, a fact that he was at least used to. He couldn't figure it out himself, which was an utterly foreign concept to him, and a frustrating one as well. It was like one of those annoying Zen riddles. One hand clapping indeed… 

In his frustration, he groaned aloud and banged his head against the wall. 

Stopping, he leaned back and looked at the wall. Had it been his imagination? No, his head hurt too much for that to be true, he had actually hit his head on the wall! He almost danced with happiness before he remembered that his head hurt. Ouch.

Sitting down again, he rubbed his smarting forehead and looked at the wall. Well, he knew that he could touch things, at least. He just had to figure out how he had done it, and quickly. 

Well, they didn't call him the boy genius for nothing, he reminded himself. If he had to be a freak, he would be a living freak, and one that could control his mutant power. He would figure it out, like he had always figured things out. It was just that he had a time limit on the equation in question.

Smiling, he stood and began again.

*******

Unnoticed by Lucas, an old homeless man slipped quietly out of the alleyway.

Weaving through the streets a bit drunkenly, he subtly checked behind himself a few times to make sure that he wasn't being followed. After a few moments, he slipped into another alley and the shadows it provided. 

The figure that emerged from the same shadows a few seconds later was a very different sight. She was a beautiful woman with deep blue skin and bright red hair, clad only in a very skimpy white dress.

Pulling a small device out of an almost non-existent pocket in the dress, she pressed a single button on it, and waited.

After a moment, a chipper, somewhat metallic voice emanated from the device. "How may I help you?"

"Nanny, put me through to Magnus." Looking out of the alley to be sure that no one had followed her; she slipped further into the darkness. 

A distinctly concerned masculine voice replaced the robotic one a few seconds later, and immediately began demanding answers. "Raven, is that you? What's going on? How is he?" 

With a genuinely pleased smile, she replied "Yes Magnus, it's me. He's already starting to understand. I think he'll figure it out quickly from here. It looks like he's going to be fine, and without our help."

*******

Thursday, May 1, 10:35 A.M.

SeaQuest DSV, Wardroom

"How the hell am I supposed to tell him this, Bill?" Nathan Bridger was certain that both his weariness and his frustration were showing in his voice, but he was far too tired to care.

"I don't know, Nathan. But don't you think that he has a right to know what happened? Besides, the press is going to find out sooner or later, and you don't want him to find out like that." Bill Noyce looked worried, and as though he'd had as little sleep as Nathan himself in the past few days, but it was all too easy to forget about how the situation was affecting everyone else. His own pain was so acute that it seemed to take immense effort just to get up every morning, let alone worry about how everyone else was feeling. It was nightmarish replay of history, too horrible to have lived through once, let alone twice. 

It was all because he had broken his promise to Carol. If he hadn't, Lucas probably would have been immediately sent away from the boat by whomever they had put in command instead. No captain was willing to put up with something so ridiculous as a teenager on board. Well, no captain but Nathan Bridger. So he had gotten Lucas killed, just like he had gotten Robert killed through his influence to join the Navy. Some father figure he was. 

"Nathan? Are you all right?" Bill was looking more and more worried as the conversation progressed, probably because Nathan was paying less and less attention to him.

Sighing heavily, Nathan nodded. "I'll be fine, Bill. You're right, I have to tell him." Already reaching for the button to cut off the communication, Nathan added, "I suppose he does have a right to know."

As he hit the button, though, Nathan wondered if the 'right to know' was the most important factor in what Bill wanted him to do. Krieg was already fragile enough due to recent circumstances; did he really need to add another burden to the man's shoulders? Bill had been right about one thing, though. Eventually, the press would find out, and then it would be everywhere. Yes, he did need to tell Krieg. As much as he didn't want to, and he was sure that Krieg didn't want to hear it, he needed to do it.

He had been in that situation far too often in the previous week.

Pulling out his PAL, he punched up Krieg, and ordered him to the wardroom. He probably sounded a bit terse, but it was for the best that the lieutenant not expect something pleasant.

Sitting down at the table, he waited. It seemed that Krieg was expecting to be in trouble for something, because it took him more than fifteen minutes to show up. Nathan hoped that it was merely instinct on Ben's part, because the last thing he needed just then was another problem. He drummed his fingers on the table, becoming more and more impatient the longer he waited.

When Ben finally came in, almost twenty minutes after Nathan had called, he couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed with the man. The lieutenant was pale and drawn, and looked as though he'd not slept in days. He didn't actually look at all nervous, just withdrawn and exhausted. Nathan wondered if it would have been a relief for him to be in trouble for something, just to be distracted for a while.

Krieg gave a quiet "Sir.", and a weak salute before Nathan waved him into a chair. Sitting down somewhat warily, Ben perched on the edge of his chair and asked, "Is something wrong, Captain?"

Resisting the urge to laugh bitterly, Nathan sighed. "I don't know if you would call it 'wrong', Lieutenant. But there is something that we need to discuss."

Nodding, Krieg looked even more miserable. Nathan briefly wondered if he knew what was coming, but no, it couldn't have been that. Considering how many times the morale officer had been questioned on the specifics of the accident in the days since it had happened, he must have been expecting another Q&A session. It was ironic, really, that the morale officer was officially the most miserable man on the whole boat.

Nathan took a deep breath and waited a moment before continuing. He did not expect the conversation ahead to be easy. "As you know very well, Lt. Krieg, the UEO has been seriously investigating the accident." When Krieg cringed, Nathan had to fight an urge to put an arm around him. Of all the people on the ship, Nathan understood exactly how the man was feeling. He was feeling guilty enough himself, and he hadn't even been there. What he had to say wasn't going to help the poor young man, either. "Well, they've found the cause."

Krieg's head snapped up, and he stared at Nathan for a moment. When Nathan waited, though, he quickly lost patience. "What, Captain? What happened? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, Lieutenant, it was not an error on your part." At least not directly, Nathan amended mentally. "Do you remember a man named James King?"

Krieg looked confused for a moment, and then his eyes went wide. He started to look a bit green, obviously having put the pieces together. "I remember him. I used to… work with him. We were partners in this thing… but he, he thought that I cheated him…" His voice broke off, and he stared at the table. 

Nodding, Nathan held out a freshly printed file to him. "It appears that Mr. King decided to 'make you pay for what you had cheated him out of', to quote him. He's in custody now."

"I-I see, Captain." Taking deep breaths, Krieg tried to steady himself. He took the file and glanced through it, not really reading anything.

Nathan watched, wanting to help the young man somehow, but knowing that nothing he could say would help. Except maybe… "We'll find him, Ben. It'll be all right. And your Mr. King will be going to prison for a very long time, for attempted murder."

Smiling weakly at Nathan, he nodded. "Of course, sir."

Well that certainly hadn't worked. Nathan was at a loss for what else to do, and just sat there looking at the lieutenant. 

After a minute, Krieg stood. "Was that all that you needed me for, sir? I really should get back to the bridge." His voice shook when he said it, and it was easy to tell that the last place in the world he wanted to be was the bridge.

Nathan shook his head firmly. "No, that was all, Lieutenant Krieg. Why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off, though? It's been a long week, and I think they can manage without you for a while."

"Yessir, thank you sir." Saluting again, Krieg left the room. 

Alone with his thoughts again, Nathan continued to worry about his morale officer. It was obvious that Ben was having a hard time dealing with the situation, but he didn't know how he could help. 

It was then that he realized that he knew exactly who could help. Kristin. She would know what to do.

Calling her up on his PAL, he listened to her soft, reassuring voice. He could have listened to her talk all day. She was his only refuge left in the world; the only thing he had left that made him want to go on.

"Nathan? Are you there?"

"Sorry, just a little distracted." Smiling, he could imagine what she made of that. As worried as she was about him, it was probably for the best that he not concern her anymore.

He could hear the laughter in her voice a moment later, when she asked, "So is there a reason you called, or was it just for the pleasure of hearing my voice?"

If only she knew… "I suppose if there has to be a reason…" Sighing, he dragged himself back to the situation at hand. "I'm worried about Ben Krieg, Kristin. He's not well."

"Of course he's not well, Nathan, he's been through a lot."

"He has, and it's only getting worse." 

"What on Earth do you mean, Nathan? How could it get worse?" She sounded concerned, yet somewhat disbelieving. It was reasonable of her, of course, there didn't seem to be many ways that the situation could get worse.

He had to tell her everything if he wanted her to understand, he just couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow breaking a confidence, telling anyone about James King. If he wanted to help Ben, though, he didn't have a choice. "The UEO found out what happened, Kristin. It wasn't an accident, someone purposefully attacked the shuttle, someone who was trying to kill Ben."

"Oh no…" 

"Exactly. He's not handling it well, not that I would expect him to be. But he needs help, Kristin, and I don't have any idea what to do." Stopping only long enough to take a breath, he added, "You're the doctor, you know how to handle these things."

"I'll see what I can do, Nathan."

Thanking her, Nathan cut the call. Standing back up, he paced the wardroom. Truly, he had never before felt so utterly impotent.

*******

He managed to get outside of the wardroom before the tears began, and it seemed like a momentous accomplishment. It had seemed like he was responsible for Lucas' death before, but suddenly it was so much more real. 

He HAD been responsible for Lucas' death.

One of his stupid business ventures had gotten Lucas killed. Katie had been warning him for years that something like that would happen eventually, but he hadn't listened. He never listened. It was his risk, after all, why should he worry? But it hadn't gotten him killed; it had been Lucas to pay for his stupid shady dealings. The silly part was that he hadn't cheated King. It wasn't Ben's fault business had been bad, he had truly done his best to make it a profitable venture. 

He walked back to his quarters, ignoring the strange looks he received from his crewmates. He had a right to cry, dammit. 

Arriving in his quarters, he decided that he had some serious thinking to do. Maybe it was time to resign from his post. As if that would somehow bring Lucas back. No, it was far too late, the damage was done. The real question on the issue of resignation was whether he could continue to function on the ship. It was a stupid question; really, it wasn't as though he would somehow function better if he left the ship. No, the only way he would continue was by being numb. By doing the same things every day, by finding himself a comfortable rut and staying there. The problem was that he had a hard time shutting his mind up. 

Against his own will, he found himself thinking of the conversation with Bridger. He remembered Jim King, and the threats the man had made when he had confronted Ben years earlier. He probably should have done something, but how was he to know that King had been serious? Even if he had expected retribution, it should have been years before. And it should not have involved an innocent boy in any way.

Well, Ben would see about that. King would get as much time in prison as he possibly could. He would be sorry that he had hurt Lucas.

Hurt… He hadn't even realized that he was holding out any hope, even if only subconsciously. Might as well give up on that… Killed. King had killed Lucas. The poor captain obviously wasn't dealing with it very well, though.

Frowning, he wondered what he could do for Bridger. The man was hurting, that much was quite obvious. He was probably hurting more than Ben, even. 

Thinking of Robert, Ben's frown deepened. Pulling out his PAL, he punched in a number. 

Seconds later, a feminine voice answered, "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Doctor Westphalen, I'm a little worried about Captain Bridger…"


	5. Chapter Five

As always, thanks to Diena. I hope that your net connection is working better soon, hon. hugs Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, you guys are the best. For anyone who's concerned, don't worry. I am going to finish this story. I already have it planned out to chapter ten, and it may go a few beyond that as well. It may take me a while to get each chapter finished, but I'm not quitting unless you guys stop caring what happens next, and tell me so.

* * *

Friday, May 2, 9:40 P.M.

An alley in downtown San Francisco

A week. He had been 'dead' for a whole week. He was homeless, had no friends, and no companionship except for the other homeless people with whom he shared his alley at times. Not that they were really companionship for the most part. Mostly, they were drunk. Not that it hadn't crossed his mind on occasion to get completely toasted, but it was hard enough to eat, let alone anything else. He doubted very strongly that he could manage to retain tangibility when tipsy.

It had actually been quite simple, when he had finally figured it out. It was all in his mind. If he wasn't consciously thinking about touching something, or whether or not he could do so, then he did. It was just that not thinking about it was ridiculously hard, particularly for someone like Lucas. His mind would invariably wander to the question of why it was that he could only touch something when he wasn't thinking about his intangibility, and that was it. More than once, he had dropped his dinner as a result of just his thoughts.

At least he didn't go completely hungry most nights, and the need to eat was certainly making him learn control more quickly than he normally would have. With a shudder, he remembered the words that he had been told so many times as a child, 'Hunger is a great teacher, Lucas'. It was still as true as it had been when he was five.

It also seemed as though his power was becoming easier to control as the days passed, which was the greatest gift he could imagine at the time. If he had to be a homeless mutant, at least the mutant part was getting easier as he went. It was true that he went to sleep hungry most nights, but at least he didn't wake up lying inside of buildings anymore.

That had been the reminder, when he had finally figured it out. That second day in the alley, after having escaped the library, he had been leaning against a wall when he fell asleep. Thinking back on it, and the other times he had managed to touch things, he had realized that it was all a matter of whether or not he had been paying attention to what he had been doing.

Trying not to think about something when it was all you wanted to think about was rather like meditation, which, of course, Lucas had never been good at. He found that distracting himself worked sometimes, so he had taken to reciting the periodic table in his head while trying to eat. Everything he had tried had failed at some point; it was exceedingly difficult to re-train seventeen years of thinking. He kept reminding himself that he should be happy he hadn't been older when his powers had manifested. He had never heard of mutant powers being discovered in adults, but if it were to happen to anyone in the world, it would probably have been him.

Immediately after his initial realization, a newfound measure of control had started to manifest in the most unexpected of ways: in his sleep. It didn't really make any sense to him, particularly considering that he had fallen through the building upon falling asleep that day in the alley, but he wasn't going to question it. The fact that he wasn't going to give himself away in his sleep was a great relief to his already over-stressed mind. Every morning, he woke up pressed against the nearest building, presumably for warmth, and immediately upon attaining complete consciousness, fell through the wall.

Living in an alley wasn't nearly as bad as he had thought it would be, really. Most of the other homeless people were either friendly, or ignored him entirely. Quite a few had suggested that he head over to the local soup kitchen for a good meal, advice that Lucas had politely thanked them for, then declined. The last thing he needed was to go into a place like that and be recognized. One guy had given him an old blanket, something for which Lucas had been very grateful. It was spring, but the San Francisco nights were still quite cold, especially when Lucas didn't have so much as a light jacket.

The same man would drop by once in a while to share a particularly impressive dinner; at least impressive by Lucas' newfound 'homeless and lucky to be eating at all' standards. Lucas didn't know where the guy got the decidedly fresh looking burgers, but thought it best not to ask, for fear of ruining his meal. The guy would sit and eat with him, distracting Lucas with talk of random subjects, from San Francisco, to hockey, to modern politics. He couldn't have known that his rambling was helping to keep Lucas from losing hold of his food, but Lucas couldn't have been more grateful regardless. He wasn't sure why the man was helping him, but he was hesitant to question any show of human kindness, for fear that it would be revoked.

Soon after gaining the tenuous grasp on his power, Lucas had made another fascinating discovery, though it was one that he had basically dismissed at the time.

The first morning he woke up pressed against the wall, he thought it was Wednesday although he was quickly losing track of that sort of thing, he had realized that there was a San Francisco policeman walking down the alley. Terrified of being arrested for vagrancy and then discovered for who and what he was, Lucas had frozen in place, barely breathing, utterly silent, and unable to move.

The policeman had walked right by where he was, looked directly at him, and obviously seeing nothing. The policeman had wandered off muttering that he was certain he had seen a boy in the alley, and Lucas had let out his held breath.

Then he had wondered how the man hadn't spotted him. He had been in plain sight.

It had only been a few moments later that the homeless man he had befriended, Dave, had come down the alley. Carrying a bag of fast food that smelled positively heavenly to Lucas, he called out. "Boy? You down here?" He still called Lucas 'Boy', never even having asked for a name, much to Lucas' relief. He probably assumed that Lucas was a runaway or something. In a way, he supposed he was.

Standing up, Lucas had cautiously walked over to his friend, who had looked right through him as if he weren't there. Hoping fervently that he hadn't simply ceased to exist entirely, Lucas responded. "Dave?"

Dave had jumped a bit, and suddenly his eyes had focused on Lucas. Raising an eyebrow in a rather strange manner, he said, "Where'd you pick that up, Boy?" It occurred to Lucas later that Dave hadn't been terribly surprised by the fact that Lucas was a mutant, but he decided that being a homeless man in a huge city like San Francisco, Dave had probably seen far stranger things than disappearing boys.

When Lucas had expressed ignorance about what had happened, and concern about the situation, Dave had just shrugged. "Doesn't seem real important. You came back, after all." And that had been that. Lucas was convinced that the man was completely unfazeable.

That night, Lucas had gone out to the local park and found the public bathrooms. Using the mirrors there, he tried to figure out what he had done, and how he had done it. After a few hours with no success whatsoever, he had given up. Obviously, he had the ability to become invisible, but with his other problems, it just didn't seem important enough to concentrate on. He didn't think he could die of being invisible, after all.

So there he was, Friday night, lying in an alley under an old tattered blanket. One week from the day his life had been changed forever. All that he had in the world was Dave, some homeless guy who probably felt sorry for him; and if that wasn't pathetic, he didn't know what was. He supposed that it could be worse, though he didn't really care to think on that, for fear that it would happen.

As the wind picked up, he pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Slowly drifting off to sleep, he tried to think on happier times, but that only made everything seem worse. This was all he had to look forward to, a cold dark alley, an old tattered blanket, and some memories of a time when he had been happy.

Eight floors above Lucas, the building superintendent was working late into the night, fixing the kitchen sink in an empty apartment. The man who was considering renting it was supposed to be there in the morning, so everything had to be in working order by then. The apartment had been empty for far too long, and the super was determined to finally lease it.

It was nearly midnight by the time he finished his work, and slid from underneath the sink. Lighting a cigarette, he flexed his tired back and leaned against the counter. Packing up his tools while he smoked, he was grateful to finally be finished. It had been a long day, and he was exhausted.

He was so exhausted that, looking forward to getting home to his wife and warm bed, he forgot to stomp out his cigarette butt where he dropped it on the threadbare carpet on the landing. By the time it had started to smolder, he was already asleep in his bed on the first floor.

Friday, May 2, 11:25 P.M.

SeaQuest DSV, The Moon Pool

Ben and Nathan had both been right, Dr. Kristin Westphalen decided to herself the day after speaking to them about each other. Of all the people on the ship, those two seemed to be the only ones utterly unable to handle the situation.

It was so strange to her, seeing two strong, intelligent men slowly fall apart. Psychology was by no means her specialty, but it was easy enough to see that they both felt guilty, and it was tearing them to pieces. Nathan stayed in his quarters every moment he wasn't on duty, and seemed unwilling to engage in personal conversations with anyone, even her. Krieg had lost weight and was hardly speaking at all, let alone going back to his usual antics.

It was easy enough to understand Nathan's point of view. He had already lost so many people of importance to him, and losing Lucas was like losing another son. If she knew him, and she thought she did, he was probably considering retiring again. It seemed to be Nathan's instinct whenever anything unfortunate happened, to retreat into himself, and run away from everything and everyone. Well, she would be damned if she was going to let him run away from her.

Krieg, she was more worried about. His actions weren't those of a man who was feeling normal grief at the death of a close friend, even a close friend that he'd felt responsible for. His actions were nothing like the Ben Krieg that everyone knew and… remembered. To her, his actions seemed to be those of a man who desperately needed help. He may not have even realized it himself, but she suspected that he was passively suicidal. He didn't act like a man who cared if he lived or died, and on Benjamin Krieg, that was the most unhealthy thing that she could think of. He was always the one with something good to say about every situation, the one who could see the upside of every bad thing that happened. A miserable Ben Krieg was one of the most depressing things that Kristin could think of.

The lieutenant's situation was something that she had to discuss in depth with the captain. Commander Ford had already suggested that counseling might be in order for a few members of the crew, and she thought it was the best idea ever to come from the ship's executive officer. For Ford, he was being unusually sensitive about the situation, and she was grateful for that. She wasn't sure why Chief Ortiz needed counseling, he was one of the few crew members that she hadn't thought was acting strangely, but she trusted Jonathan Ford's assessment of his crew. She just had to get Nathan's permission to send for a psychologist.

Which was why she was headed for the moon pool, because Commander Ford had told her that he was there. Drowning his sorrows in the ocean, as usual. Some men went drinking; Nathan Bridger went swimming.

Walking into the room, she overheard the tail end of a sentence that confirmed her suspicions about what Nathan was thinking. "-miss the island, don't you boy?"

Bridger was patting Darwin, though the look in his eyes told her that he was thousands of miles away. In the Caribbean, to be exact. As seemed to always be the case, Darwin was the sensible one between the two of them. His response to Bridger made Kristin smile. "Darwin like island. SeaQuest home now."

Interrupting before Nathan could say anything further, Kristin put forth her own opinion. "Quite right, Darwin. The two of you belong here now; seaQuest is home."

They both looked over at her, Nathan in surprise, and Darwin… Well, who could ever say what Darwin was thinking? She could have sworn that the dolphin smiled at her then, and started to swim around the tank. "Bridger and Doctor come play?"

Frowning, Nathan looked back at Darwin. "Maybe later. I think that the doctor and I need to talk right now."

"Give fish?" Darwin asked, swimming back up to the edge of the tank.

Chuckling, Nathan went over to get his friend some fish. "If I keep feeding you, you're going to get fat and lazy, you know."

Darwin's response was almost enough to make Kristin laugh out loud. "Bridger not hunt. Bridger fat and lazy?"

Frowning at his friend again, Nathan didn't respond to him. Instead, he looked back over at Kristin and tried to drop both of the previous conversations. "So, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, Doctor?"

For some reason, his dodge bothered her more than if he had just come out and told her that he was thinking of running away. "First, I think I'd like to say this: If you think you're just going to run away from this, Nathan Bridger, you had just better think again." Giving him a harsh look, she continued on with what she had intended to speak to him about. "And I came down here to talk about Lt. Krieg. I think you're right to be concerned about him, and we need to do something about it."

He nonchalantly dropped fish to Darwin for a few seconds before responding. "You have something in mind, I assume?"

"Frankly, I'm at a loss for what to do, Nathan. I think that the only thing we can do is try to get someone here who knows how to deal with this sort of thing." Her voice was still a bit strained, mostly by her annoyance with his continued dodge on the subject of himself. Petting Darwin, she tried to calm her frayed nerves. Getting angry with him was not going to help the conversation.

"What about Doctor Levin? He's good at that sort of thing, isn't he?" Nathan continued to not look at her, but she decided that it didn't matter, as long as they were trying to resolve something. He obviously wasn't willing to address the problems he was having, but at least she could help someone.

She thought out her answer carefully, not wanting to speak ill of Doctor Levin, but honestly not believing that the man could handle the situation by himself. "He's a good therapist, certainly. But I don't think that he has either the time or the training to deal with something this serious. We're talking about most of the crew needing help, Nathan, and some of them needing quite a bit of it."

"You want to ask the UEO for someone, then?" Nathan asked absent-mindedly, reaching out to pet Darwin while pointedly not looking at her.

"That is what I had in mind, yes."

She was more than startled when he reached over the dolphin and took her hand in his. "I didn't intend to run from you, Kristin. I just don't know what to do anymore. Every time I come out of hiding, bad things happen to people that I care about. Half of me is afraid that you're next."

Astounded at his sudden and unexpected honesty, she could only stare at him for a moment, openmouthed. Then nodding, she responded, "I suppose I understand that Nathan, but nothing is going to happen to me. And even if it did, it wouldn't have anything to do with you."

Looking back to Darwin, he shrugged. "Technically, I know that. It's just impossible to convince myself that it's completely true." Pausing for just a second, he went back to the original topic of conversation. "Do you really think that Krieg is that bad?"

"You've seen him, Nathan. He looks awful, and he doesn't seem to care about anything. He's so lifeless, I can hardly stand to look at him." She was angry with herself for even thinking it, but it was true. An unhappy Ben Krieg was not a person that anyone wanted to be around.

"I suppose you're right. I just hate to ask for a therapist, it makes the crew feel like I don't have any faith in them."

Even though he had been the one to point it out, Kristin wondered if he had any idea just how serious the situation with Ben was. "Nathan, I'm not worried that he's unhappy or might be unproductive. I'm worried that he's going to try to kill himself."

Looking sharply up at her, he was obviously shocked at the idea. "Suicide? But..."

"Nathan, you've seen the way he's been acting; quiet, somber, almost vacant. It's not the least bit like him, and it's unhealthy at the very least. He feels as though he got Lucas killed, and the guilt is eating at him." She tried as hard as she could to make him understand, although she knew that he was dubious. What she couldn't figure out was why he didn't believe it. He felt guilty enough himself; he should be the most likely person to understand why someone else would go to such lengths.

"But I'm sure that he'll be fine as soon as we find Lucas, Kristin." His voice was almost a whisper, but she could feel the emotion in it. He was willing her to agree with him; to give him any hope at all that Lucas was still alive. She wished with all her heart that she could lie to him, just to make him feel better, just for a moment. But it wouldn't have been doing him any favors to perpetuate a fantasy.

Her voice cracked when she tried to speak, but she had to do it. She had to make him face reality. "We're not going to find Lucas, Nathan. You know that. Lucas isn't alive." It was odd, really. Somehow, saying it still didn't feel right to her. And if she couldn't even bring herself to say 'dead', how was she going to convince Nathan of it?

Taking a deep breath, Nathan turned to her. There was pain in his eyes, and it tortured her to know that she had put it there. Opening his mouth to speak, he hesitated for a few seconds as though trying to remember what he wanted to say.

Before he could utter a syllable, he was cut off by the computerized voice of Darwin. "Lucas lives."


	6. Chapter Six

I love you guys; your reviews are the best! Sorry for once again leaving it at a cliffhanger, but it really was the best place to leave off. With luck, the next chapter will be quicker going up, even though I'm going out of town for the next week. I promise, I'll get to work as soon as I get home. ;)

As always, and particularly so this time, many many thanks to Diena: best beta-reader ever. (That's her new title) I don't know if it's really a lot better than it was before, but I hope so…

* * *

Saturday, May 3, 2:13 A.M. 

An alley in downtown San Francisco

He awakened suddenly, to the smell of smoke.

His first instinct was to assume that some of the local homeless had started a fire to keep warm, but even before he opened his eyes he had realized that couldn't be the case. There was far too much smoke to just be a small fire.

It took him only a moment to locate the fire, high in the building that he was sleeping next to. It was eating its way through the seventh and eighth floors, though it looked as though the whole building was likely to be consumed before it was finished. Old apartment buildings never held up well to fire, and the one in question seemed to be no exception.

Quietly slipping out of the alley, Lucas joined the large crowd of people standing outside. Largely made up of the building's inhabitants and other locals, they were too worried about whether the fire would take their homes as well to pay any attention to Lucas. The few people that did notice him probably thought he was there for the same reason that they were. He may have been homeless, but at least he didn't look homeless.

Yet.

The police tried to tell the crowd that there was little that could be done, and that those who lived nearby should return home, but few listened. Who could listen to someone telling them to calm down and go home, when everything that they cared about was in danger?

A large area around the front of the building had been blocked off so that the crowd couldn't get too close to the fire, and Lucas took care not to cross it. The last thing he needed was the attention of police, however distracted they were by the fire at the time. Trying to be invisible, though hopefully not literally, he wandered over to the edge of the police line and watched the firemen working.

Craning his neck back, he took in the enormity of the inferno high above him. It was larger than any fire he had ever seen before, and getting larger by the moment. Even seven floors away, he could feel the heat of it, as though he had a nasty sunburn on his cheeks.

As he watched the flickering flames take further hold of the building, he wondered if everyone who lived in the building had gotten out safely. The moment he thought it, his conscience was ready with a fatalistic 'probably not'. Frowning, Lucas shook his head, as if that could somehow rid him of his increasingly pessimistic attitude.

A movement in front of the building caught Lucas' attention then, and he looked down to find what was possibly the strangest and most disturbing thing he had seen in his life.

A man clad only in his pajamas was standing a few feet from the front door of the burning building, apparently trying to fight his way back in. Tears streamed down his face as he struggled against the policeman who was holding him back, and he seemed to be yelling something, though Lucas couldn't hear it over the roar of the fire.

The policeman, looking nearly as shattered as the man himself, restrained him as best he could. Even with the distance between himself and the two men, Lucas could tell that the cop was trying to talk to the hysterical man, but that it was obviously doing no good. That probably had something to do with the fact that the cop appeared to be quite close to tears himself, and from the look on his face, it wasn't because of the smoke that was hanging in the air.

It didn't take more than a few seconds to realize the implications of the scene before him. His previous cynical notions about someone being trapped in the fire were true. The man had to be trying to get to someone in the building, but there was no way that the police could allow him back into a burning building.

Looking toward the top of the building again, Lucas wondered if it were possible for the firemen to reach anyone still alive in the flames. It gave him something of a sick feeling, knowing that someone was up there dying, and it was likely that no one would be able to do anything about it. Once again, Lucas' eyes were drawn to a motion. For a brief second, he was certain that he saw movement in a ninth-story window. A small, pale face.

A child.

Did the kid even have a chance?

As if to answer his unspoken question, a breeze caught the fire, and it flared even brighter.

No, of course not. Life couldn't be that kind. That man's child was stuck in a burning building, and there was no one to do anything about it.

Unless…

No, that was nuts. Lucas couldn't possibly manage what trained firemen couldn't.

And yet, being intangible, Lucas could easily get through the fire…

But there was no assurance that he would find the child, or that he would manage to help if he did. And even if he saved her, the police would find him, and then there would be questions. Everyone would find out about Lucas being a mutant.

It was like a nightmare in which there was no good answer. Try to help an innocent child and have your life destroyed utterly, or let a child die.

Let a child die!? Horrified with his own selfish train of thought, Lucas shook his head violently. He couldn't stand by and no nothing, particularly when it was possible that he was the only person who could save the kid.

The only problem was that there was no way for Lucas to get to the ninth floor, especially if even the firemen couldn't. The stairs were probably destroyed completely, he doubted that there was any way remaining to get that far up the building.

Then the answer came to him, and he almost smacked himself for not remembering sooner. The fire escape that he had been sleeping under not ten minutes earlier was still there. The very purpose of it was to get out of the building during a fire. Just because one was supposed to use it to leave didn't mean he couldn't use it to get in.

Slipping back into the alley, he headed for the stairs.

The building had been evacuated early enough that no one had actually used the fire escape, so the stairs were still retracted, to try to deter potential burglars. Looking around quickly, Lucas spotted a dumpster in the alley. He was certain that it would give him the height he needed to make his way onto the stairs. Using strength he hadn't known he possessed, Lucas pushed the dumpster under the fire escape, and pulled himself up onto the metal railing above him.

Racing up the stairs as fast as he could, Lucas hoped against all reason that the child was all right. It was a long run, and Lucas had never been in the best of shape, but it seemed to fly by. Time in general seemed to fly by, in fact, as if reminding him that even if the child were still alive, they wouldn't be for long.

As he ran by the seventh story window, a gout of flame shot out, and passed directly through him. Though he was well aware that fire couldn't hurt him in his intangible state, it was quite stunning occurrence. Shaking his head sharply, he continued his race up the stairs. There were more important things to ponder than his personal invulnerability to fire.

Like a small child who was slowly choking to death on smoke.

Reaching the right floor, Lucas realized the second of the many logistical problems with breaking into a burning building. He wasn't a burglar, he hadn't thought about the window. Knowing that he had few alternatives, he briefly looked around for something with which to break it. Finding nothing, he braced himself for the pain, and put his elbow through the glass. Surprisingly enough, it didn't hurt. Adrenaline, probably. It would hurt later, when it didn't matter.

Later, when he would also wonder why he hadn't just walked through the wall instead of breaking the glass, and how he had managed to run up the stairs while insubstantial. He had so little time to think just then, that neither of those things seemed to be all that important.

Pushing the jagged edges of glass out of the window, he went through the opening he had made, directly into a room filled with fire. If he had been conscious of anything other than his cause, he would have marveled at the speed with which he had switched back and forth between tangible and intangible, without even considering it. Instead, his mind immediately turned to where the girl could be.

The fire had reached the ninth floor in full force, and he could only hope that whatever room the kid was in was yet untouched. Remaining intangible, he began to search through the first apartment on the ninth floor. Almost all of those rooms were on fire, but thankfully, he found no child.

Making his way through the hall to the other apartment on that floor, he was grateful to see that the fire hadn't reached it quite as strongly yet. Practically running by that time, he went through each room as quickly as possible, scanning the floors and beds for a child.

Finally, he found her.

She couldn't have been more than four, and she was lying on the floor, curled up into a ball. From the redness on her cheeks, she had obviously been crying before she had either fallen asleep or passed out from smoke inhalation.

Mentally forcing himself to substantiality, he picked the girl up and started looking for a way out. Looking out the window, he found a nine-story drop, and no fire escape at all on the side of the building they were on.

Heading out into the hallway between the apartments, it didn't take long to realize that there was no way down the stairs. They were still standing, but the entire stairwell was consumed with flames. The apartment through which he had entered was filled with fire, there was no way he could take the girl through that. The elevator wasn't even an option. The whole building was a giant firetrap, one that the government obviously should have condemned decades before.

The ugly truth struck him like a physical blow.

There was no way to get her out alive.

Falling against the nearest wall, Lucas slowly slid down to the floor, which was already starting to get warm. Holding the little girl tightly in his arms, he reconsidered every possibility. If he jumped out the window, they would both probably die. If he tried to go down the stairs, she would die, and he probably would as well. Going through the other apartment was the same as trying to go down the stairs, only with very slightly less fire.

That was it, then.

There was nothing he could do to save her.

If he couldn't even do one simple thing, what use was he? Maybe everyone had been right. He was just an obnoxious kid, who couldn't accomplish anything. Maybe he should just sit there until the fire claimed them together. At least that way she wouldn't have to be alone.

Looking down at the innocent sleeping face of the girl, he knew that he would never leave her to die alone in the fire.

In her sleep, she coughed on the thickening smoke, and snuggled into him, calling him daddy. He just smiled bitterly and patted her hair.

No, there was no way he would leave her to die alone.

* * *

Friday, May 2, 11:40 P.M.

SeaQuest DSV, The Moon Pool

They both turned to stare at Darwin in astonishment. A fish was still sitting in Nathan's hand, but he couldn't seem to actually move the hand to give Darwin the fish. It was as though time has slowed to a halt, and all that he could do in the fraction of a second that was dragging on forever was stare at the dolphin in front of him.

Kristin was the first to find her voice, and asked the question that both of them had running through their minds. "What? What do you mean, Darwin?"

Nathan was convinced that if Darwin had been human, he would have sighed and rolled his eyes at them, as the dolphin simply repeated his earlier comment. "Lucas lives."

Looking over at Kristin, who seemed as shocked as he was, Nathan felt true hope dawn inside him for the first time since he had been told about the accident. It wasn't in Darwin's nature to lie; it couldn't possibly be that. For some reason, Darwin believed that Lucas was alive, and Nathan intended to find out what that reason was.

Of course, with Darwin, that could take some time and effort.

"How do you know that, boy?" he asked Darwin, hoping that would be enough to get the dolphin talking.

"Darwin see Lucas." Darwin was apparently not in the mood to be talkative.

Looking around himself suspiciously, Nathan hoped that Darwin meant in the past tense, not the present. "When boy, when did you see Lucas?"

Darwin looked at Bridger blankly for a moment, and Nathan could only hope that the dolphin was trying to formulate an answer. Just as he was ready to give up and ask something else, Darwin spoke up. "After Ben." Darwin paused for a second, then continued, saying, "Ben in sick place, Lucas in water."

It was all that Nathan could do not to start hopping with excitement. He felt like a teenage girl. Lucas had been alive after the accident. He wondered, though… "If you found Lucas in the water, Darwin, why didn't you bring him home?"

"Not touch Lucas." Darwin answered simply.

Trying hard not to be frustrated, Nathan tried again. "Yes, I know you didn't, Darwin. But why?"

"Darwin not touch Lucas." The dolphin repeated.

Frowning, Nathan looked over at Kristin exasperatedly. He didn't know if Darwin was being deliberately difficult, or if there was some sort of language issue that kept Darwin from communicating the full nature of the situation. He couldn't imagine that Darwin would deliberately keep them from finding Lucas.

As calmly as ever, Kristin leaned over and took the fish that Nathan was still holding. Giving it to Darwin, she looked at him calculatingly for a moment. "Do you mean that you couldn't touch Lucas, Darwin?" Looking over at Nathan, she added, "Maybe he couldn't get to Lucas, Nathan."

Nodding madly, Darwin agreed. "Yes. Not touch Lucas."

"All right, Darwin, you couldn't get Lucas." At that, the dolphin nodded again, and Nathan began to feel as though he was getting somewhere. He truly allowed himself to hope; to think that perhaps he would see Lucas again. "So where did Lucas go?"

Darwin paused for another moment, and Nathan could have sworn that he was frowning. "Land. Lucas go to land."

Disturbed, Nathan wondered why he hadn't heard from the boy if he had somehow gotten to the shore. Looking over at Kristin, he realized that she appeared to be thinking the same thing.

When she noticed his look, she smiled reassuringly at him and put a hand on his shoulder. He was momentarily distracted, wondering if it was the hand she'd had the fish in, but put that out of his head. He had slightly more important things to think about than whether Kristin had gotten 'eau de dead fish' on his uniform.

"I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason that he hasn't contacted us, Nathan. Maybe he needed medical attention, and checked himself into a hospital. It's possible that he's been unconscious." From her tone of voice she obviously didn't think that was true, but it seemed like a possibility to Nathan. He made a mental note to check with area hospitals, just in case.

It seemed unlikely that Lucas could have gotten himself to shore if he had been so hurt as to be unconscious for the next week. It was even unlikelier that the hospitals wouldn't have recognized him as the boy from the papers. Nathan was running low on ideas of what could have happened, though, so he grasped at straws where he found them.

Deciding that they had gotten all the useful information out of Darwin that they were going to, Nathan and Kristin headed for the bridge.

Making an announcement about Darwin's information to a much reassured bridge crew, Nathan felt truly human again for the first time in days. The crew still seemed a little bit skeptical, but they trusted Darwin's words. Nathan supposed it didn't hurt that they all wanted to believe, either. The rush of relief was followed by another wave of dissatisfaction, though, as the crew remembered a vital piece of information.

The seaQuest was due to leave San Francisco in less than two days, and two days was not nearly enough time to find a lost person in a city as large as San Francisco.

Considering all of his options, Nathan realized that he didn't have a lot of them. They would spend the two days that they had scouring the city for Lucas, but he doubted very much that they would find the boy. San Francisco was huge, and his crew had little idea how to look for a missing person in anything other than a boat.

He had to face the probability that they wouldn't find Lucas before leaving. Therefore, he had to find a way to continue looking for Lucas after they left.

Flipping on the internex, he began a search for private investigators in San Francisco.


	7. Chapter Seven

I'm really sorry this took so long, guys. hangs her head in shame The only excuse I can give is that it took me forever to figure out how to start this chapter. At least I've finally addressed the cliffie, right? ducks

Many thanks to everyone who took the time to read and review chater six, I appreciate it a whole lot. Also, as always, a huge thank you to my awesome beta, Diena.

* * *

Saturday, May 3, 2:38 A.M.

A burning apartment building in San Francisco

Contrary to cut-scenes in poorly directed television shows, waiting to die is neither fast nor easy. It's actually amazingly slow, leaving the person involved more than enough time to consider and reconsider all the mistakes they made that landed them in the situation that would kill them.

He had always heard lame stories about how he was supposed to see his life flash before his eyes, but he wasn't getting that at all. Maybe it was just because his life had been incredibly boring, so there was very little of importance to think about.

Replaying the evening in his mind, though, the only thing that kept coming back to him was that if only he had kept out of the burning building, then he wouldn't have been slowly choking to death. But that conclusion didn't really help him, because no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't believe that not trying to save the little girl was an acceptable idea.

Anne, he had decided her name was. He wasn't sure why, it just seemed right. And regardless of the fact that he hadn't done her much good, he was convinced that he had done the right thing. That was what was important.

Wasn't it?

'Of course not', the voice labeled 'father' nagged from somewhere in the back of his mind. 'The important thing is that you've given up. As usual.'

Scowling, he tried to think of something more pleasant, but nothing came. Just the irritating voice, reminding him of what a failure he was. His one opportunity to still be a semi-contributing member of society, even though he was a mutant, and he had blown it.

'Good job, Lucas.'

He would have told the voice to shut up, but that seemed a little… not quite sane. Of course, he didn't think that it would have listened anyway, so it was kind of a moot point.

All in all, it was just the way he had always wanted to die, he told himself sarcastically. Slowly and painfully, with no one to mourn him, and not having bathed properly in a week.

Everyone that cared had already mourned for him, after all.

Not that he was truly Lucas Wolenczak anymore. No, he was just a mutant freak who looked remarkably like a dead man. Lucas Wolenczak's family wouldn't have even tried to accept him, and although Lucas' friends were far more forgiving of his faults, he doubted that they would have particularly appreciated it either.

It was ironic, really. He didn't have anything left to lose but his life, and even that seemed to be only a matter of time.

He was so caught up in his self-pitying thoughts that he almost didn't hear little Anne sniffling quietly. Looking down at her, he found huge watery blue eyes staring back at him. She opened her mouth to say something, but the moment she breathed in, all she could do was cough.

That, of course, was what triggered it.

A child was dying, and he was completely impotent to do anything about it.

Shockingly, instead of bringing about a whole new wave of self-loathing, it brought on something entirely different.

It took him only a second to realize that he had started to sink into the wall behind him, and lean forward. Annoyed with himself for once again losing control of his powers, it took him a few moments longer to realize that he was still holding the girl.

Anne, he mentally corrected.

'Wait… go back to that other part…' a little voice in his head told him.

He was still holding the girl.

Slowly standing up, he looked down at little Anne, who had stopped coughing, and was just staring up at him with awe etched on her face. He smiled down at her, hoping it would reassure her that everything was all right. When she leaned into him and smiled back, he gathered what courage he had remaining, and headed toward the fire escape.

Walking her directly through the door and into the flames in the apartment next to her own, he was worried that she would react badly. It only took a few seconds for him to realize that he was far more frightened than she was.

Snuggled up in his arms, she had closed her eyes. She looked so peaceful, it was as though she were simply being carried to bed by her father, as opposed to being carried through a burning building by a stranger.

Unsure of how long his miracle would last, Lucas hurried through the apartment and down the fire escape. When they reached the ground, he knelt down and whispered in her ear. "Anne?"

Too late, it occurred to him that Anne probably wasn't her real name. Good one, Lucas…

Her eyes flickered open nonetheless, and she looked at him curiously and whispered in a hoarse voice, "Are we going to heaven now?"

Blinking repeatedly, he just stared at her for a moment. How could he answer a question like that?

Oh yeah… "No, sweetie, you're going to be okay."

…'Sweetie?' Where the hell had that come from? He really had lost his marbles.

Seeming almost disappointed, she nodded. "Oh, okay."

Putting her down on the ground, he frowned when he realized that she was barefoot, and the alley was positively disgusting. Not much he could do about that, though, and he supposed that the fact she was alive was a little more important than her having dirty feet. Not to mention the fact that he'd been sleeping in that same alley less than an hour before.

"Your father is right over there." He whispered to her, pointing around the corner toward where her father had been. "You had better go, so he won't worry about you anymore."

Nodding solemnly, she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek and hug him tightly before turning to run off. Even in his state of general misery, it was hard to not smile at that.

Leaning back against the wall, he sighed heavily. He had done a good thing, and he had lived through it. He probably wasn't going to get any more sleep that night, but in comparison to having done something worthwhile, that seemed irrelevant.

Moving to a different nearby alley, he assumed that if anyone even bothered to look for him, they wouldn't look far. He curled up next to a dumpster in the new alley, amazed at the change in his state of mind.

For the first time in a week, Lucas felt somehow…. Human.

As odd a notion as it was, it was a pleasant surprise to find that the ordeal with the fire had exhausted him. For the first time in many days, Lucas found sleep easily, and stayed asleep for quite a while.

Early evening found him many hours later, still resting contentedly in his new alley. When he awoke to the sound of movement nearby, he was still groggy enough to assume that it was Dave. It didn't even occur to him that Dave wouldn't know where to find him anymore.

Poking his head around the corner of the dumpster he was lying next to, he was unpleasantly surprised to see a complete stranger walking in his direction. The man was quite obviously not one of the local homeless; his clothes were far too clean and well kept for that. At least he wasn't a policeman looking to arrest Lucas for vagrancy, but that still didn't mean that Lucas wanted to be seen.

Pulling back a little too quickly, Lucas frowned when he heard all the noise his movements had made. Jumping to his feet, he looked around frantically. There were only two ways out of the alley, and both involved him being seen by the strange man.

Unless, that was, he used his powers to take him through the nearest wall.

Taking another quick look around and finding no new options, he turned toward the wall behind him. Trying not to flinch, he stepped inside.

A cool breeze moved through the eerily silent alley, as the strange man stared at the wall he had just watched the boy walk through.

That was it.

He had to get out of the city; it was just too dangerous for a freak like him.

He quickly found Dave, having formed an unnaturally strong attachment to the man in the few days he had known him, to tell his only friend that he was leaving. As always, Dave just listened to him talk, and nodded.

"If that's what you think you've gotta do, kid, I understand." Frowning suddenly, he started looking through his pockets. After a moment, he pulled out a wad of crumpled bills. Taking only a cursory glance at them, he handed them to Lucas.

His mouth falling open at the gesture, he just shook his head.

Before he could say a word, Dave just laughed. "S'ok, kid. I'll be fine. You're gonna need to eat out there, though." Patting him on the shoulder and smiling, he continued, "I'd say to write or call, but well… you know. If you're ever in the city again, though, come see me."

With another grin, Dave was gone, leaving Lucas with what turned out to be nearly fifty dollars.

Having not the vaguest clue where he was going, Lucas started walking. He hoped it was at least vaguely in the direction of a highway out of the city, and for once fate didn't seem to be against him.

Given all of the horror stories he had heard over the years about hitchhiking, he was rather worried about what kind of psychopath might pick him up, but it was a chance he was willing to take. It wasn't any safer to sleep on the street, anyway. But of course, once again, he was doing something that his family and friends would have been either horrified or humiliated by.

After more than three hours of walking, though, he was beginning to wonder whether anyone was going to pick him up at all. It would be ironic, really. There he was, expecting all sorts of crazy people to try to pick him up and do disturbing things to him, and as it turned out, he wasn't even good enough for the lunatics.

He shouldn't have been surprised, really. He hadn't changed clothes or bathed in a week, and he must have looked it. People probably thought that he was the psychopath, waiting to be picked up, so that he could kill them and steal their cars.

After a few more hours, he decided that it was probably nearing midnight, and he wasn't anywhere near the edge of the city. It would probably take days to walk that far, actually.

Ahh, how the universe just loved to shut him down, he mused to himself. There he was, finally doing something that could be considered constructive, but he needed help that it appeared he wasn't going to get.

On the other hand, if he was the driver, he was pretty sure that he wouldn't pick himself up…

Just seconds before he convinced himself to give up for the night, he felt a rush of wind on his face as a semi pulled over right in front of him.

Astounded for a moment, he walked up around the side of the truck, working hard to convince himself that it had pulled over for some reason other than to pick him up. As he reached the spot next to the door, though, it popped open.

"Hey, you looking for a ride?" A fatherly looking man in his fifties was sitting there, looking down at him.

Nodding dumbly, Lucas found that he couldn't even form the words to respond.

"Well, I'm only going as far as Nebraska, but you're welcome to come with if you want, Kiddo."

He couldn't help but smile at the man's use of the captain's old nickname for him, and it struck him as a good omen.

"Nebraska would be perfect, actually. I mean, if you don't mind…"

Grinning amusedly, the man held out his hand to help Lucas into the massive truck. "Wouldn't have offered if I hadn't meant it. Name's Roy."

Knowing full well that he couldn't introduce himself as Lucas Wolenczak, he reached into his mind for any possible name that he could give the man. "Alex." Pausing a moment, he quelled the urge to hug the man, and then went on. "And thanks a lot for the ride."

"Not a problem, Alex. I don't know why you'd want to go to Nebraska, but I'm glad to have the company." Smiling, Roy turned on the radio, which was tuned in to a local country music station.

Smiling back, Lucas couldn't help but think of happier times, even as the singer on the radio wailed about how his wife had left him for another woman. He still couldn't understand how Commander Ford listened to that nonsense without laughing. Only in places like Nebraska was it normal for people to take country music seriously.

Yes, Nebraska was perfect.

No one in Nebraska thought about mutants or poor dead Lucas Wolenczak, boy genius.

At least, he hoped they didn't.

* * *

Saturday, May 3, 7:21 P.M.

A dark office, somewhere in San Francisco

Dialing the long number slowly and meticulously, he sat back in his desk chair and waited. To say that he wasn't nervous would have been an outright and obvious lie.

His future hinged on that single call, whether for the better of worse, and he had very little control over which it was. If he handled it badly, though…

Suddenly, there was a woman on the screen before him, and he had no more time to consider the possible outcome. His fear increased a thousand-fold, though, and his mind went temporarily blank as to what he should have been saying.

She was even more disturbing in person than he had heard or imagined. Perfectly straight white blonde hair framed her beautiful face, which appeared to permanently carry a vaguely annoyed look. She wore little makeup if any, but still looked as though she had just stepped from the pages of a women's fashion magazine. He could make out the top of an expensive suit, perfectly tailored and worth thousands of dollars, no doubt. It was her eyes that were the truly disturbing thing, though. They were empty of anything but impatience.

At least it would be impossible to forget who and what he was dealing with, he reassured himself. She could, and probably would, crush his mind if he gave her any reason to do so.

Repressing a shudder at that thought, he tried to smile at her. He knew that it looked strained at best, but there was little he could do about that. She was probably used to that sort of thing, anyway. Reminding himself that he was supposed to be talking, he took a deep breath and began.

"Ms. Frost? I have some information that I've been told you might find interesting."

Raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow, she waited.

Presuming that was his signal to continue, he cleared his throat nervously and began. "It's about a mutant, here in San Francisco…"

Five minutes later, he wiped the sweat from his brow and slumped over in his chair.

Fifty thousand dollars.

He certainly wouldn't have made that much with his information any other way.

It was even already in his bank account; she had transferred it as he'd watched. She'd given him a vague threat about what would happen if his information was wrong, but he'd assured her that there was no worry of that. He wasn't stupid, after all. There was no way he would have called her if he'd had any doubt. The deal was completely done, though. No further contact with that horrifying woman would be required of him, thank goodness.

Calming himself and making certain that he was presentable, he dialed the other number on his list. It was ironic, really. The lying he had to do next was going to be far easier than telling the truth had been.

When the man on the other end answered, he did his best to smile sympathetically. He had done so for so many others over the years, that it wasn't particularly difficult. "Captain Bridger." Pausing a moment and dipping his head, he leaned toward the screen on his desk. "I'm afraid that I haven't been able to come up with anything yet. Of course, on the timetable that you gave me, that isn't really shocking."

Sighing deeply, the captain nodded. "I suppose that's not unexpected, really. I just had the feeling that he was so close…" Breaking off for a second, the captain shook his head and continued, "You'll keep looking, though?" Still looking so hopeful that it made him feel guilty; the captain was obviously unprepared to give up without a fight.

Fifty thousand dollars, he reminded himself.

Fifty thousand dollars from a woman who would certainly kill him if he did anything to break their agreement, and telling the captain anything at all would do precisely that. It was far too late to change his mind.

"Of course, Captain. I'll keep looking for as long as it takes." As sympathetic as he was suddenly feeling for the captain, it was very hard to regret fifty thousand dollars.

Looking very old, if still somewhat hopeful, the captain nodded again. "Thank you." He leaned back then, and said in a slightly dejected voice, "You know where to contact me if you find anything."

"Of course, Captain."

Disconnecting the vid-link, he sat back in his chair once again. The guilty feeling stuck with him for a while, but in the end, it was hard to feel all that badly for some genius rich kid, or a UEO captain who probably made more in a year than he'd seen in the last ten.

And for the first time in nearly a year, he was going out to dinner.


	8. Chapter Eight

Monday, May 5, 4:10 P.M.

Paxton, Nebraska

The trip had been full of the potential to be difficult, but the reality of it had shocked Lucas tremendously.

It had been perfect.

Two days of driving, of talking about random meaningless things. Nothing of any importance had come up, and Roy obviously had no clue who Lucas was. They had stopped for food now and then, which Roy had insisted on paying for. A week earlier that would have horrified Lucas, but with less than fifty dollars to his name, he found it very difficult to say anything.

He had become so used to everything going wrong at all turns that he didn't know what to do when everything went well.

The trip to Nebraska was blissful and quiet, and he couldn't help but wish that it lasted longer. As they pulled into Roy's tiny hometown of Paxton, Lucas couldn't seem to shake the feeling of foreboding.

Maybe it was just his fatalistic instincts talking, but every time something good had managed to happen to him it had been followed by at least twice as many negative things, so he was highly suspicious.

It wasn't until the truck actually pulled up in front of a little green house that Lucas realized exactly what the problem was.

It was perfect.

It looked like something out of a storybook of rural America. An antique looking two-story farmhouse, sitting in the middle of a few acres of grass, it was unlike anything Lucas had ever seen in reality. It was like a dream of peaceful, happy life.

A life that Lucas didn't fit into.

He already knew that Roy had a beautiful wife and two daughters waiting for him, along with all the trappings of a perfect rural life. It was all of the things that Lucas had never expected to have. The things that Lucas suddenly had no chance of ever having.

He felt out of place, even just looking in on Roy's idyllic life. He wasn't ever going to have a life like that. He was just a mutant freak, in every possible sense of the term.

He didn't deserve a life like that.

Oblivious to Lucas' internal pain, Roy grinned over at him. "Well, here we are. Hope that Nebraska isn't too depressing for you."

Smiling back as best he could, Lucas shook his head. "It's beautiful."

Laughing loudly, Roy shook his head at he opened the door and climbed down out of his truck. Turning to close the door, he smiled indulgently at Lucas. "You've obviously never been to Nebraska before. The word most of us use is 'boring'."

Lucas climbed down from the truck, and came around the front in time to see Roy assaulted by two small children who appeared to be moving at the speed of light. Their mother hung back a bit, but seemed no less happy to see her husband.

The charming scene before him caused the knife that seemed permanently embedded in Lucas' heart to twist painfully.

Freaks didn't have happy families waiting for them in Nebraska, or anywhere else, for that matter.

No one was waiting for Lucas to return home.

He didn't even have a home, anymore.

And there he was, jealous of one of the only people who had even spoken to him since the accident. He couldn't seem to stop being jealous, even though the fact that he was made him feel even worse.

Was it really surprising, though? He had always been a selfish person. Being a mutant had just made it even worse. He was hardly even human anymore.

Or was he even human at all?

His stomach turned, and Lucas stared at his shoes in discomfort. He hoped that he wasn't actually turning green, but felt as though he was.

He heard a soft feminine voice then, a voice that seemed directed at him. "And who's this?"

He tried to make himself look up, but felt glued in place; as though the force of gravity had suddenly increased exponentially. He wanted so very much to move, even if just to collapse; but he couldn't seem to do anything.

Inhuman.

"Oh, damn. Sorry, Kiddo. Almost forgot that you were there."

Invisible.

The story of his life, really. Most people just never bothered to admit that they had forgotten about his existence.

"Girls, this is Alex." Roy walked over and put an arm around Lucas' shoulder. "He's gonna be staying with us for a while."

Suddenly, he found himself accosted by two little balls of energy, asking questions faster than he could have responded, let alone come up with the appropriate responses.

Still, though, he couldn't bring himself to move.

Part of him wanted to scream, to do anything to keep them from touching him. Even being with other people couldn't make him feel human anymore.

Even worse, them being with him seemed wrong. It was as though he would somehow taint them by his mere presence.

Finding his strength and voice, though, Lucas did what he had always done best.

He acted as though nothing had changed in those horrifying moments of immobility.

He pretended that everything was fine.

It was the one useful skill that he had left, and he put it to good use.

Pre-dawn the next morning found Lucas sneaking out of the house, carrying nothing more than he had come in with. He had considered leaving the money he had, but it was all that would keep him in food, and even that would only last so long…

So instead, he had left a note, thanking Roy and his family for their kind hospitality, and apologizing for leaving so unexpectedly. He didn't explain why he was leaving, but he didn't know how to explain it. Even if he had been better with words, it was probably for the best that he not tell them. As kind as they had been to him, he didn't want them to worry about him.

His staying could only put them in danger.

The only thing he could do anymore was hurt people.

* * *

Tuesday, May 6, 5:45 A.M.

SeaQuest DSV, Captain's Quarters

At first, he thought that the irritating noise was an alarm of some sort.

Or maybe it was his alarm clock.

As the sleep-induced haze in his head cleared, he realized that it was his vid-link buzzing at him, demanding his immediate attention.

It wasn't particularly surprising. It was one of the first times since Lucas' disappearance that Nathan had actually been able to sleep, and it was interrupted. He just wasn't meant to sleep properly, he supposed.

He slowly swung his feet over the edge of his bunk and rubbed his eyes before activating the annoying machine. "What is it?" He irritably demanded a reason for why his sleep had been interrupted. He probably didn't look very imposing, newly awoken, sitting hunched over in his bunk, and still wearing his pajamas, but he didn't much care.

"Really, Nathan. I think it's time for you to take a vacation." Even the surprisingly upbeat voice of his old friend Bill Noyce wasn't going to fix his mood that easily, though.

Sighing, he shook his head and looked sorrowfully back at his pillow. Then he glared up at his friend and asked in the same annoyed tone, "Do you want something, Bill, or am I going back to bed?"

Smiling indulgently, Bill leaned toward the screen. "I suppose that you could go back to bed, but I really don't think you want to do that, Nathan."

Curious as to what could make Bill so smug, Nathan actually began to wake up. "What is it? What's going on?"

Smiling even more, Noyce held up a piece of paper. "This, my friend, is what you've been looking for. I got a call this morning that may well prove you haven't gone off the deep end yet."

Frowning deeply, Nathan wondered if his exhaustion was affecting his ears. "I still haven't heard why you've called, Bill. And I assure you, no one could possibly prove my sanity, not even you."

"Not even you can ruin this mood, Nathan. Now I suggest that you call these people right away. They have an interesting story for you." Bill pressed the paper up against the screen so that Nathan could read the numbers on it, and then continued. "A story about a blonde-haired, blue-eyed teenager, who was in San Francisco less than a week ago."

Sitting straight up in his bunk, Nathan hit his head.

Ignoring the pain in his head and the ringing in his ears, Nathan nearly ransacked his own desk looking for a convenient piece of paper on which to write the number Bill was offering.

Then he proceeded to hang up on Bill without saying goodbye. As he was dialing the number, he realized what he had done. It didn't even give make him pause, though. Bill would understand.

A few seconds later, he was looking into huge blue eyes. They seemed somewhat disappointed to see him, and if he had been in any other mental state, that fact would have amused him.

"Bethany! How many times do I have to tell you not to mess with that?"

Frowning, the adorable child crossed her arms over her chest. "Only once."

Coming up beside the child, a somewhat haggard looking man picked her up and looked at Nathan apologetically. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm not used to looking after her all the time, and until her mother gets out of the hospital…" Trailing off, the man sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. Is there something I can help you with? Bethany, stop squirming."

The squirming child scowled at him. "I'm Anne, now, Daddy. The angel said so."

Sighing again, the man opened his mouth to say something to the girl, but obviously thought better of it. He shook his head and looked back over at Nathan, who was trying very hard not to look amused.

"I'm Captain Nathan Bridger of the UEO vessel seaQuest. I'm sorry to bother you, but I understand that you may have some information on one of my crew members." Nathan realized that he didn't look particularly impressive in his pajamas, but if the man actually had information on Lucas, he couldn't care less.

"Oh! You're the man that the Admiral said would be calling." The man looked down at his daughter, and motioned to the screen. "Bethany, why don't you tell the Captain what happened?"

Suddenly shy, the girl buried herself in her father's chest and peered at Nathan through her hair. Looking up at her father, she asked "About the angel?"

Giving Nathan the apologetic look again, he nodded to her.

The girl bit her lip for a moment before speaking again. "The angel came and got me from the fire, cause Daddy couldn't."

Blinking repeatedly, Nathan wasn't quite sure what to make of the confusing yet adorable description.

Her father patted her on the head. "I'm afraid she doesn't make much sense, and I don't know exactly what happened, but I'll try to explain. You see, our apartment building caught fire on Friday night, and Bethany was stuck in her room. It appears that someone scaled the fire escape and went through our neighbor's apartment in order to get Bethy out."

"Daddy…"

"And apparently, he told her that her name is Anne."

Nodding matter-of-factly, the girl looked at Nathan curiously. "Do you know the angel?"

"That just may be, young lady." Nathan was briefly uncertain of how to proceed, but knew very well that he needed to be certain that the 'angel' in question was actually Lucas. "Why don't you tell me more about your angel, so that we can find out for sure if I know him?"

Squirming her way out of her father's arms, the girl sat down in front of the vid-link and bit her lip. "He had gold hair. And he was crying."

Trying not to chuckle at the less than helpful description, Nathan smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Do you remember anything else?"

Drawing her eyebrows together, the child thought for a few seconds. "It stopped hurting when he was there."

That had certainly come out of nowhere.

Nathan didn't recall Lucas having any miraculous powers of healing, and the vagueness of the girl's description was beginning to make him wonder why Bill had been so convinced that the boy in question was Lucas.

Just as the depression started to descend again, though, the girl's father spoke up. "We were beginning to think that we weren't going to be able to find the young man at all, but then last night, my sister brought a newspaper home. We're staying with her, you see, until we can find a new place. And there was an article in it about the missing boy; Lucas, is it? Bethy recognized him right away; she's convinced that he's her angel."

Sitting back in his bunk, Nathan could only nod in response.

Lucas had been alive only a few days before.

Saving little girls in San Francisco from fires.

He wasn't sure whether he was proud or horrified at Lucas putting himself in such danger.

There was time for concern later, though. For the time being, he had to get as much information as possible, before his only lead on Lucas' whereabouts had grown too cold. Nathan was uncertain of why, but his instinct told him to cut the detective out of the picture, and use his other resources to investigate.

Getting all the information he could out of the man and his daughter, Nathan promised that he would contact them immediately upon finding Lucas.

And for the first time since the accident, he was completely convinced that he would find Lucas.

Alive.


	9. Chapter Nine

As always, many thanks to everyone who reviewed. Sorry for taking so long to get this next bit up, but as promised, I am not abandoning the story. :)

Only a few chapters left...

* * *

Friday, May 9, 6:20 A.M.

A gas station on the outskirts of Chicago

It had taken him three days to get from the middle of Nebraska to Chicago, and he began to worry about whether he was going to be able to get anywhere further than Illinois. He had only a few dollars remaining after buying something to eat in the gas station, and he knew that what he had left wouldn't get him terribly far.

He would have tried to get a job, or at least find some way to make money, but that would have inevitably led to the questions he didn't want to answer. Well, provided he could stay tangible long enough for the questions to come up. Even though that was becoming likelier by the day, it was still something of a struggle sometimes.

Leaving the store with his provisions; Twinkies and a random caffeinated beverage, he started across the parking lot back toward the interstate. He wasn't going to get anywhere, after all, if he didn't keep walking while trying to hitch a ride.

He had only gotten about halfway across the lot when he heard the voices. It wasn't something he wanted to be hearing, but as usual, he couldn't force himself not to listen. Why did he always have to get himself involved in other people's business?

"Aww, c'mon, baby, we just want a little of your time… Woman like you's gotta get around, right?" The voice was vintage Midwestern hick, speaking with as many grammatical improprieties as could be fit into a single short sentence.

The response was calm, carefully measured, and seemingly spoken by someone with at least a high school education. "I asked you to leave me alone. Please do so."

"Looks like we got ourselves an uppity one here, eh little brother?" A second, equally annoying male voice answered.

The response, apparently from the man's brother, was so filled with pathetically obvious sexual innuendo and racial slurs that it made Lucas blush. Without even looking, it was obvious to Lucas that the men were harassing a black woman, one who didn't have any interest in their attention.

Still, his mind appealed to his fading sensibility, don't get involved. She can take care of herself, his brain insisted; there's no need for you to start something you can't finish.

But... He was a mutant, right?

He was officially the scariest thing between there and Mars, in the minds of uneducated hicks like that. In all probability, if he exhibited any trace of mutant powers, they'd go running for the hills, and not bother another innocent woman for some time.

How could he _not_ do something?

It could be the only thing he was good for anymore: random vigilantism. He'd managed to help little Anne, and that had been at the risk of his own life. Thugs probably couldn't even touch him, let alone hurt him. He risked nothing by helping this woman, other than the possibility of being recognized, which seemed more and more remote, the further he got from San Francisco and its newspaper headlines.

That was it.

He couldn't just walk away.

If all that he could be good for was helping people, then walking away from someone he could help would just reinforce his lack of worth. If all that he could be good for was helping people, than dammit, he would do it.

Still standing with his back to the dimwits in question, he spoke. That way, if they were huge and muscle-bound, his courage wouldn't fade before he had a chance to do act.

"Don't you guys have anything better to do than bother this lady?" Then he took a deep breath and turned around. Looking at them almost made him laugh, to think that he had been nervous about men like that. In his previous life, he would have had to worry about fighting guys like that.

Not anymore, though, and never again.

It was a heady feeling, the realization that he had the upper hand in a fight with two men. The adrenalin rush alone was worth getting involved, he decided to himself as the men turned toward him.

"You just stay out of this, kid," the bigger of the two men told him in an irritated tone.

The other seemed to size him up and then dismiss him, turning back to their prey. A beautiful black woman in her mid twenties, she looked completely out of place in rural Illinois, and was the perfect choice for harassment by men like them. No one would help her after, all.

The Civil Rights movement may have been some sixty years past, but in some parts of the world, it was still as though it had never happened. And then, of course, there was the fact that some men seemed to think that they had an automatic right to bother any woman that caught their eye.

After all, every woman wants the attentions of greasy hillbillies, doesn't she?

Shrugging, Lucas decided that if he was going to go for it, he might as well go all the way. "So, are you guys hard of hearing, or are you just amazingly stupid? To be honest, I'm guessing it's the second, but I'm at least trying to hope it's the first."

The smaller man whipped around to face Lucas again, a nasty look gracing his already unpleasant features. "You just earned yerself a beatin', Boy."

Lucas smiled in return, and walked toward the man. Some part of his mind was still screaming in protest of what had to be the most insane thing he had ever done, and despite his relative certainty that he would not be hurt, a shiver of fear ran down his spine.

He was actually deliberately picking a fight with two fully grown men.

Amazingly, his walk was filled with a confidence that he didn't quite feel, and his voice rang true without even a single tremor. "Oh really? Frankly, I'd be rather impressed if you could manage to use three real words in a row, let alone manage to cause me harm."

Stepping out quickly, too quickly, the little man swung at Lucas.

For once, he was happy that his powers appeared to be based on instinct instead of conscious thought. If the intangibility hadn't activated automatically in the face of danger, that fist would have connected directly with his jaw. Instead, it went straight through Lucas' head without connecting to anything. In fact, the man's momentum was such that he almost fell down when his fist didn't find a mark.

Lucas was exceedingly glad that hadn't actually hit his nose.

Maybe it wasn't so bad to be a mutant, sometimes.

The look on the little man's face was priceless. He stared at his fist for a second, while Lucas waited for him to connect the dots.

Lucas realized that he'd been quite close to the truth with his insult to the man's intelligence, when the guy apparently decided that he needed to take another swing. Just to be certain that what he thought had happened had actually happened, Lucas supposed.

When his fist once again failed to connect, the man just stared at Lucas for a few seconds in shock. It was very hard not to smirk in response.

"Need some help?" Lucas asked smugly.

The man's fist dropped to his side lifelessly, and he slowly backed toward his brother. "Jesus, he's a goddamn mutant!"

Without another word, the two men turned tail and ran.

That had been easy.

Okay, it wasn't so bad to be a mutant at times like that.

Occasions like it might not have come up often, but it made being a mutant seem infinitely more bearable. He was actually a useful, contributing member of society, he realized happily as he watched them scramble into their truck and tear out of the lot, tires squealing.

He may not have been 'Lucas Wolenczak, Boy Genius', but at least he was something.

He still had a purpose.

He remembered the woman then, the whole reason he had become involved in the mess. The sight of a mutant had likely scared her off, as well, he thought to himself somewhat bitterly. It wasn't that he expected any thanks for helping, but…

"Thank you," came the unexpected voice from outside his head.

Clearing his thoughts, he looked up to where the woman had been. No, to where the woman was still standing. She hadn't run off, even after seeing him in all his evil intangible mutant glory. If anything, it seemed as though she were standing closer to him.

She was even more beautiful up close, with striking white hair and pale blue eyes. A very unusual combination on anyone, but with her coloring, it seemed somehow…

"Forgive me," she broke his train of thought by continuing on, for a moment, he thought that she was apologizing for thanking him. "I'm Ororo. Ororo Munroe." She stepped forward, then, and held her hand out.

He stared at it for a fraction of a second before responding.

She had seen that he was a mutant, and not only had she not run away, she wanted to shake his hand? Concentrating on anything but his tangibility, Lucas reached for her hand and hoped for the best.

His hand connected to warm flesh, and he gave a small 'thank you' to whatever deity might exist in the universe for small favors.

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Munroe. I'm… Alex." He knew that he had hesitated too long before giving a name, that it was obviously not his real name, but there was very little he could do about that in retrospect.

"It's nice to meet you, too… Alex. I appreciate the help with those two." Her eyes were so filled with understanding and kindness that he almost dared to hope that she was for real. She had seen that he was a mutant, and she was still treating him like a person. Was such a thing possible?

Against his will, Lucas found himself blushing. "It was nothing, Miss Munroe. I mean, it wasn't nothing, it's just- It was the right thing to do. And those guys needed someone to teach them a lesson." Had that last bit been the right thing to say? It had sounded a little cold to his own ears, but he couldn't deny the truth in it. He had wanted to teach those men a lesson that they wouldn't forget.

"Damn right they did." A male voice cut into the conversation without warning. A small but dangerous looking man came out of the convenience store carrying two cups of coffee and a small bag.

Lucas tried not to eye the man's warm-looking leather coat enviously. It was still rather chilly for the time of year, and Lucas had nothing to cut the biting wind that seemed as though it was never going to go away. He had left his blanket back in San Francisco with Dave, after all. He wasn't so comfortable with his homeless status yet, that he could wander around wrapped up in a military surplus blanket.

Stupid, useless pride.

He shivered involuntarily.

He looked back toward the interstate, which was going to start clogging up because of morning traffic all too soon. And if that happened, Lucas knew full well that he'd be walking along side the road until rush hour traffic was over, which was almost four hours away.

Unfortunately for Lucas, no one on their way to work or stuck in traffic picked up hitchhikers.

That did mean that it was time to extricate himself from the situation, though, or he'd be paying for his distraction later. As much as he would love to stay and talk… to find out if she really knew he was a mutant, and didn't care.

He turned back in time to see the two of them sharing a meaningful look. It didn't strike him as particularly threatening, or he would have been off like a shot. In fact, it had almost seemed… well, the opposite of threatening, whatever that might be for Alex the mutant.

The woman turned back to look at him after a moment, and smiled reassuringly. "Did you need a ride, Alex? We're headed toward New York, and we'd be happy to take you with us."

His heart caught in his chest.

She knew that he was a mutant, and she was offering him a ride?

Was it a trick? She didn't seem like she was plotting his demise, and the man wasn't even paying attention anymore, but was closing their car's gas tank in preparation to leave.

An odd calm feeling overtook him. They weren't a threat. He wasn't sure why he knew it, but there was no doubt left in him. Maybe it was just his exhaustion talking, but he didn't particularly care anymore.

A ride was exactly what he needed, and since it was what they were offering, he would take it. New York seemed like the perfect place to go, too. It would be easy to get lost in a gigantic city like that. It would be easy for a mutant to fit in, in a place where every kind of person in the world lived.

He would be safe in New York.

* * *

Friday, May 9, 7:30 A.M.

SeaQuest DSV, Captain's Quarters

It had been three very long days since Nathan had spoken to little Bethany, and while the information had been inspiring, nothing had come of it.

None of the people questioned by the UEO operatives had any memory of seeing Lucas at the scene of the fire, and neither did anyone else who lived in the area. It was as though he had been invisible while saving the girl, for all the information they were finding.

Bethany's help had allowed them to piece together a few things, at least. They knew that Lucas had taken her out through her neighbor's bedroom window, and down the fire escape on the side of the building. How Lucas had gotten into Bethany's family's apartment was still in question, though, seeing as the door was of the automatically locking variety, and had been found to still be locked when the fire had been put out. It made sense that Lucas could have come out through the door, but how he had gotten in to begin with was quite the mystery.

There was also the girl herself as a mystery, to the doctors. As long as she'd spent in a burning building, she should have been far more damaged than she had been. They insisted that she was hardly hurt at all, though. She had inhaled very little smoke, not even enough to keep her in the hospital for more than one night, and that only for observation. She was obviously a very lucky girl, Nathan thought.

Some of the crew was wondering what would have possessed Lucas to do such a thing as climb into a burning building, but Nathan didn't concern himself with that terribly much. Lucas had his moments of selfishness, certainly, but he would never back down in a crisis like that. Nathan was certain that Lucas couldn't have known that a child was in danger and not helped.

More important than the logistics and wherefores of the daring rescue of Bethany from the fire, in Nathan's own mind, was why Lucas hadn't come home. Or rather, why he hadn't returned to the seaQuest. For all that he racked his brain, Nathan couldn't find a reason that Lucas wouldn't have returned to the ship after the accident.

Unless…

Unless Lucas had somehow damaged his head in the accident, and had amnesia.

They had checked all of the San Francisco area hospital records and found nothing at all. There were no records of Lucas himself seeing a doctor, anonymous people fitting his description being seen, or anything else Nathan had thought of to look for.

Lucas had disappeared into the city, without a trace.

Once again, they knew that Lucas was alive, but had no leads to his whereabouts.

They were searching blindly in the dark, and in a city like San Francisco, Lucas was the proverbial needle in a haystack to begin with.

Try as he might to keep his spirits up, Nathan was getting more and more exhausted.

Maybe he would take some time and talk to that psychologist that the UEO had sent. The one he had requested, at Kristen's suggestion. He wasn't any great fan of psychology, but the woman seemed to be quite pleasant, and more importantly, seemed to be doing a world of good for the crew.

Krieg had actually been acting somewhat like himself again. It seemed odd to Nathan, the idea that talking to a therapist could cause such a sudden and drastic change for the better in the man, but if she could help the lieutenant so much, then maybe she could ease his mind as well.

Kristen was still concerned about Miguel's refusal to see the woman, but Nathan didn't quite understand it. If Chief Ortiz wanted to deal with it on his own, then he would deal with it in his own way, and in his own time. It wasn't as though Ortiz had been that close to the situation, after all.

Oddly enough, even Ford had seemed concerned about the Chief.

Nathan shook his head and lowered it into his hands. Sometimes, on days like the one he was just starting, he felt his age. Or maybe it was twice his age.

He wasn't sure that he understood anything that was happening on his own boat anymore. Why had Bill wanted him in charge, when some days, he couldn't even manage to act like a captain, let alone feel like one.


	10. Chapter Ten

Terribly sorry about the delay, especially as I had intended to have this posted almost a month ago. I've just been ultra-busy, and forgot. I should warn, for anyone who has me on their watch list, that I'm going to be posting other (already finished) seaQuest fanfiction at some point in the near future, while the new chapter of Lost and Found won't be ready for some time

* * *

Friday, May 9, 6:30 A.M.  
A freeway on the outskirts of Chicago 

He wasn't sure whether to be thrilled, or worried. His instincts told him that he could trust the strangers, but the whole situation seemed _far_ too good to be true.

Nothing good ever happened to Alex the mutant.

Except maybe Dave.

And the whole learning to control his powers thing.

And saving Anne.

And now two strangers who had offered to take him to New York.

And maybe, just maybe… becoming a mutant to begin with.

"You wanna donut, kid?" The rough voice from the front seat distracted him.

"His name is Alex, Logan." Miss Munroe responded for him.

"You wanna donut, _Alex_?" Logan responded, speaking more to Miss Munroe than Lucas.

He couldn't quite hide his chuckle at the good-natured banter between the two. Everything about them seemed to be setting him at ease. He didn't even mind being called 'kid' by the strange man – Logan. That was an odd feeling.

"No thank you, Sir, I have something." Pulling out his Twinkies, Lucas smiled nervously. He liked the strangers for some reason, and he very much wanted them to like him, too.

The whole situation was entirely surreal.

"Sir?" Logan sounded as though he was going to laugh out loud. "Just Logan, kid." Looking over at Miss Munroe, he amended, "Alex."

She smiled at Logan, and took the cup of coffee he was offering her. "I would stop somewhere for real food, but we're in a bit of a hurry to get home, I'm afraid. We'll stop for fast food at lunch time, if that sounds good to you, Alex."

Mentally counting up his remaining funds, Lucas nodded. "I could go for a burger, in a few hours."

He yawned widely then, and was reminded of how little sleep he had gotten in the previous days. The last time he had gotten a decent night's sleep had been at Roy's house, and that had only been five hours.

He wondered if they would mind…

As if reading his mind, Miss Munroe piped up. "You can nap until lunch if you want to, Alex. That is, if it wouldn't be a problem for you…" She skirted the subject of his intangibility like a pro; he was quite impressed.

"No, it's not a problem… That is, if _you_ don't mind."

Logan chuckled. "As long as you don't mind waking up without any Twinkies."

Grinning, Lucas tossed the package to the older man. "Be my guest. It's the least I can do."

The backseat of the car was cold, but it was by far the most comfortable place Lucas had been in days.

He was asleep seconds after his head hit the window.

* * *

"Poor thing is going to wake up with an awful pain in his neck, sleeping with it at that angle." Ororo frowned maternally, looking in the rearview mirror. 

"He's a kid, he'll be fine. They bounce back easy." Logan was looking at the Twinkies in his lap as though they were a great enigma. "S'a good kid."

Ororo smiled, but stayed silent.

"Damn, it's cold in here." Logan said, seemingly at odds with the fact that he was taking his jacket off. Nonchalantly tossing it into the backseat, Logan took a drink of his own coffee. "Just tell me when you want me to take over driving, 'Roro."

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Ororo noted with no small amount of amusement that the jacket had landed directly on the sleeping boy.

Ahh, Logan. The only man she had ever met who loved taking care of people, particularly lost children, but didn't ever want anyone to know about it.

* * *

Lucas awoke to the smell of food, and the sound of a male voice muttering about 'fake meat'. 

He thought of Ben, and the hamburger fiasco, and almost giggled. Then he thought of eating the actual remains of a dead animal, and the urge was replaced by a vague sense of nausea.

The very notion was kind of gross.

As he slowly came to consciousness, he wondered why they had decided to eat without him. Had he slept so long? Then, he noticed the bag sitting next to him in the back seat.

He felt a strange lump in his throat, and had to blink back tears. Obviously, his situation had rendered him overly emotional. On the other hand, he had never seen so much of the generous side of humanity, before he'd become homeless.

It restored some of the faith in humanity that he'd lost while working so closely with the military.

The military could destroy anyone's faith in anything.

"Hey kid, I hope you like meatless meat, and cold french fries." Logan's vaguely annoyed voice broke into his thoughts.

Grinning, Lucas nodded. "That's the best kind."

He had started digging into the bag before even considering his pride. The 'Lawrence Wolenczak' voice in his head threatened to remind him of how he had to be an example for other people, and how he had to consider the family name, but he kicked it away.

_Screw you, you arrogant jackass, _he thought vehemently. _You've never been homeless or desperate. You wouldn't even begin to understand._

It was then that he realized that the voice in his head was not from his father. Though it quoted things that Lawrence had said to him over the years, the context was all wrong. The voice in his head was completely his own, just as it always had been.

His burger almost fell in his lap, at the realization.

Even if his father had known what was going on, and was horrified by having a mutant for a son, he wouldn't have said those things.

Lawrence Wolenczak would have been pleased with Lucas holding up, under such pressure.

His father would have been proud of him.

* * *

Friday, May 9, 11:00 A.M.  
SeaQuest DSV 

So he went to see the UEO-assigned shrink.

Just to meet the woman who was affecting his crew so much, he told himself.

"Captain Bridger. I had begun to wonder whether I would ever meet you." She stood as he entered, flashing him a smile that would have impressed toothpaste ad people.

Nathan covered his surprise well, or at least he thought he did. _This_ was the therapist? A beautiful young woman by any definition of the term, Dr. Jean Grey was the last thing he had expected the UEO to send.

He tried not to underestimate her on the basis of her youth of looks, but it was difficult. Anyone her age was a hard sell as a therapist, let alone anyone who looked so much like she should be a model. He wondered if that was why Krieg had gotten better so quickly. A pretty girl always put Krieg in a good mood.

She put her hand out to shake his, and it took him a moment to remember how to respond to that.

He was too old to be spending time around pretty girls.

Obviously, she had dealt with his attitude before. "I assure you, Captain, I am fully qualified to be here. And while I may be young for my profession, I'm not as young as I look."

He made to deny her implication about his thoughts, but the look she gave him stopped him in his tracks. Somehow, he knew that lying to Dr. Grey was a bad idea.

"I don't suppose you can overlook an old sailor's prejudices, Doctor? I'm afraid I just never put much stock in your profession."

At the rather rude words, Doctor Grey smiled radiantly and laughed at him. "Now see, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Despite his concerns, he found himself laughing.

After a moment, the serious mood returned, and he found himself sitting opposite the lovely young doctor.

"Would you like to talk about Lucas, Captain? I've found that regardless of my presence or lack thereof, the crew enjoys that."

Nathan swallowed hard, and tried to shrug half-heartedly. She was a shrewd woman, this Doctor Jean Grey.

He tried to hedge. "I don't know what there is to talk about, Doctor. He's out there somewhere, and we need to find him. That's all there is to it."

She smiled patiently. "Is it?"

All he could do was frown.

Damned insightful woman.

"All right, we need to find him, and then we need to send him home where he belongs. Boys shouldn't be on military vessels."

She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "And grown men do?"

By this point, he was outright scowling.

"Someone has to protect… Fine, no, I'd rather not take any of them into harm's way, all right? But they're soldiers, and Lucas is just a child."

"And that makes you feel more responsible than if he were an adult? It's my understanding that you had nothing to do with the accident, yes?" She looked patiently at him, waiting for a response. How could a child like this Doctor just lay his feelings bare in fifteen seconds flat?

Looking away, Nathan was annoyed and relieved at the same time. And annoyed at his relief. "I think of him as a son, Doctor Grey. And before you feel a need to do any more psychoanalyzing, yes, I feel responsible for everyone under my command, Lucas most of all because of his age. And yes, I had my own son; yes, he's deceased; and yes, I feel responsible for that, too."

Irritatingly enough, the confession made him feel better.

She just nodded seriously and said, "I understand, Captain."

And dammit, he believed that she did.


End file.
